


L'appel du vide

by starbursts_and_kisses



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-03-02 14:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18812800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbursts_and_kisses/pseuds/starbursts_and_kisses
Summary: In a fit of madness, King Aerys orders Jaime to be fostered at Winterfell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fanfic of the year and it's a Jaime/Lyanna one. Go figure. Lol
> 
> This little plot bunny of mine wormed its way into my brain a few days ago, and I never actually thought I'd get around to finishing it because of work, but UGH, let's be real, after the way D&D butchered Jaime's character on the show, not to mention Dany's (spoiler alert!), let's just say I got inspired like hell to finish this story. 
> 
> As always, my writing skills are rusty af and this work is unbetaed, so don't say I didn't warn you.

There was no sane explanation for sending the heir to Casterly Rock all the way up North to be fostered other than the fact that the crown willed it so. It was a ludicrous idea, and one that neither party, under normal circumstances, would have willingly considered. But the fact remained that the king was mad, petty, and furious with his Hand besides. And having known Tywin for a long time, Aerys knew that the best way to get back at him was through his heir.

So when the letter bearing the Mad King’s seal came to them a fortnight before the twins’ ninth name day, no one had taken the news well. Cersei had raged, Tyrion had wept, Jaime had stared at the letter in disbelief, but nothing - absolutely nothing - could have prepared them for the depth of their father’s wrath. 

Tywin’s first instinct was to rebel. To call up his banners and march all the way to the capitol to demand Aerys’ head on a spike. Let Westeros be torn apart by civil war for all he cared. Better that than to allow his son to be banished to the North to be raised by the likes of Rickard Stark. 

But Tywin Lannister was not a man who acted on his impulses. He was smart enough to realise that the idea, absurd though it had been at first, had its merits. For one thing, it would mean separating Jaime from Cersei, an act that would hopefully put an end to the unnatural closeness the two of them shared.

Jaime had grown utterly dependent on Cersei as of late, Tywin had noticed, and no man, much less one who is set to inherit the entire might of the West, should be allowed to be that reliant on a woman, not even if that woman was his sister.

It also stood to mention that if Jaime was sent North, there was a chance that he’d be safe from Aerys’ wrath, or so Tywin hoped. Without him in sight, the Mad King might have less inclination to use him as a pawn in his never-ending battle against his Hand. And the less weapons Aerys had against him, the better. Because with proper timing, Tywin was confident that he’d be able to beat the king at his own game.

Once he manages to betroth Cersei to the crown prince, there would be no stopping House Lannister. The Westerlands’ reach would extend all the way to the capitol, and it would be everything Tywin had ever dreamed of and more. So if he had to sacrifice his precious heir to do it, then so be it. What was one son in the face of such greatness, such  _power?_

 _Joanna would understand,_ he thought.

Later that night, he summoned Jaime to his solar and made all the necessary arrangements. The following day, the young lion departed for Winterfell. It would be many years before he’d ever come back home again.

 

* * *

  

The first thing that Jaime noticed about the North was the cold. The castle itself was heated, but the cold seeped into Jaime’s bones all the same, rendering his fingers numb and turning the blood in his veins into ice.

Lord Stark had proven himself to be gracious and utterly without fault upon his arrival, but the Northerners were a cold and stubborn lot, and not even Brandon Stark’s wolffish smile and offer of a swordsplay match come dawn was enough to ease his discomfort. Jaime felt like a stranger in a wolf’s den, and not for the first time, he wished he could go home.

He missed Casterly Rock with fierce longing. He missed his favorite training grounds, the way the air smelled like the sea on a warm summer’s day, the countless hours he spent chasing Tyrion around the castle bowels despite their lord father’s disapproval. He even missed his late mother, whose death he hadn’t been given a chance to mourn properly, thanks to his father’s insistence to erase every trace of her at the Rock.

But most of all, he missed Cersei - Cersei who knew him better than he knew himself, Cersei who had always loved him best. If Cersei were here, she’d know precisely what to say to put these Northern lords in their place.

As it was though, Lord Stark had the wrong Lannister, and now Jaime was stuck here with him indefinitely, alone and well on his way to freezing to death.

He suddenly felt foolish in his Lannister clothes. The material was so thin he couldn’t help but shiver, and he was suddenly glad that no one could see him this way. Had someone told Jaime a moon ago that he’d be huddling in his newly appointed chambers like a cornered rat, he’d have laughed.

“Hello.”

Jaime turned around and almost jumped out of his skin. There was a girl in his chambers. She was tiny, about his age, with a long face that would have looked somber were it not for the rebellious spark in her eye, and it took him a moment to realise why she looked so familiar. She had the same smile as Brandon Stark’s.

“Are you Lyanna?” he blurted out. Lord Stark's only daughter was supposed to be present at the feast that they’d held to honour his arrival, but she’d mysteriously vanished before she could be properly introduced to him, saying something about a mare and a broken horseshoe. Luckily, Jaime had been too distracted by all the stiff-mannered Northmen to feel offended.

“Call me Lya,” the girl corrected. Her eyes fell on the lion sigil on Jaime’s surcoat. “You must be Father’s new ward.”

“Yes. I’m Jaime of House Lannister. You’ve heard of my father, surely? He’s Hand of the King.” 

“Hand of the King? How lovely,” Lyanna replied. She did not sound impressed. “In any case, it’s good to meet you, Jaime.”

She shook his hand. Her eyes widened once she realised how cold it was. “Oh, goodness! You're freezing! Here.” Jaime caught the bundle of fur she tossed at him a second before it hit him on the face. “I was told to send you these. They belonged to my brother Ned, but like you, he was sent away to be fostered. Where he is now, I imagine he’d have no use for them.”

Jaime wrinkled his nose in distaste. He’d probably look hideous dressed in furs, and he debated whether or not to throw Lyanna’s proffered gift in the fireplace, where it surely belonged. He stood there shivering for what felt like hours, but in the end, his pride at being given used clothing was trumped by the need to keep himself warm. So he grudgingly wrapped one of the fur cloaks around his shoulders and listened half-heartedly as Lyanna prattled on about how much she missed Brandon and how sad she was that he had to split his days between Winterfell and Barrowton.

“This thing itches,” he complained.

Lyanna smiled knowingly. “You’ll get used to it,” she said.

“No, I won’t.”

Jaime looked away, his features twisted into a scowl. This place was a living hell, he decided, and just because the Mad King ordered him to be sent here did not mean that he had to like it. He was a lion of the Rock, however much out of his element he was in this cold wilderness, and he would not be tamed by quiet words of reassurance from a girl whose height barely even reached his shoulders.

Sooner or later, King Aerys would forget all about him and Jaime would be free to go back home. Surely he must. Otherwise, how else was he supposed to survive?

 

* * *

  

The following morning, as promised, he faced Lord Stark's heir in a mock battle.

Brandon Stark was every bit as wild as the rumours had suggested. He moved with predatory grace, his lips curling into a snarl every time his sword clashed with Jaime’s, and it made it hard for him to predict his every movement.

But Jaime so loved a good challenge, and swordplay was the one thing in his life that he was good at, so in the end, it was him who managed to draw first blood.

“Well done, Lannister,” Brandon exclaimed. His teeth were bloody from where Jaime had managed to snag an elbow to his face, giving him the appearance of a wolf fresh from a hunt, but he looked neither upset nor concerned at his injuries. “I think I shall enjoy beating you tomorrow.”

Jaime grinned and clasped the hand Brandon offered him. “I wouldn’t count on it, if I were you,” he told him with all the cockiness of a boy of nine. The exercise had cheered him up far better than he’d expected it to and, likewise, he looked forward to sparring with Brandon again. 

“I can’t believe you lost to him.” 

Lyanna, who up until that point had been breathlessly watching them from afar, ran to her brother and flicked him on the forehead. The sight of her - tiny hands on her hips and eyes shining with reproach – instantly cowed Brandon.

“You should have cheered harder for me,” he told her with a scowl.

“Would that have made a difference? It seems clear to me that Jaime is the better swordsman.”

“Thank you kindly for your loyalty, sweet sister.”

Brandon made a grab for her, as though he meant to tackle her to the ground, but Lyanna was faster. She darted out of his reach, twin braids flying in the air. Her laughter trailed behind her like sweet perfume.

Jaime watched them run circles around the yard, his heart aching for his own siblings. The Stark children were close, Brandon and Lyanna especially so, and it pained him to see such blatant displays of affection, for it reminded him all the more of Cersei. He wondered... would she ever look at him again with such fierce love, the same way Lyanna looked at her brother, the next time he sees her? It scared him to know that he no longer knew the answer.

He must have looked sad, because the next thing he knew, Lyanna was dragging him by the hand, in the direction of the godswood and away from her brother.

“Come, Jaime. It’s been too long since Brandon lost a match. Allow him to sulk awhile.”

“Where are we going?” he asked her warily. He did not trust these Northerners, Lyanna most of all. There was something entirely too wild about her. Even for a lord’s daughter, it was unnatural.

“It’s a surprise!” Lyanna told him. When Jaime still did not look convinced, she added, “You shall love it, you’ll see.”

“Do try to bring him back in one piece, Lya,” Brandon called out after her. “Father would be wroth with me if he gets eaten by the wolves. And you know how much I aim to please Father.”

Jaime paused mid-step and watched the grin form on Brandon’s face. “What wolves?”

Brandon didn’t answer, not even when Jaime dug in his heels despite Lyanna’s protests, and it wasn’t until he heard the elder Stark boy laughing that he realised that he’d been fooled.

 

* * *

 

The moment Jaime realised that Lyanna had taken him to the hot springs, he’d almost wept in relief. It seemed inconceivable that something this delightful could exist within the cold walls of Winterfell, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The North was a place full of secrets, and Jaime had much to learn.

“So? Does this place please you?”

Jaime dipped one finger in the water and hummed noncommittally. “Yes, I suppose it’ll do,” he remarked.

“Has no one ever taught you how to say thank you?” Lyanna asked him, her eyebrows knitted together. Jaime couldn’t tell whether she felt amused or insulted.

He shrugged. “My father says gratitude is measured in gold. Would you like to have my golden lion brooch? It’s worth a fortune.” 

“You’re a strange boy,” Lyanna said with a laugh. She joined him where he lay crouched on the ground and took off her shoes. Jaime watched her feet skim the water’s edge. “Keep your gold. I have no use for it. Besides, you don’t try to pay off your friends, Jaime.” 

“Friends? We are to be friends now?” 

The notion was absurd. Jaime had had playmates, of course – spineless noble children too polite to fight back but had nevertheless looked at him with a mixture of envy and hate for being born Tywin Lannister’s son – but  _friends?_ He’d never had friends. He’d never felt the need to, not when he had Cersei.

Lyanna wrapped her arms around him as though they’d been raised together all their lives, ignoring the way Jaime stiffened at the unwanted contact, and said, “Yes, of course, silly.”

Jaime was struck by her boldness. The way she jutted her chin and delivered those words reminded him of his sister. Had Lyanna been any other girl, mayhaps Cersei would have liked her. But even as a young child, she had always been possessive of Jaime. He found it hard to imagine her being happy that he’d somehow managed to forge a friendship with the Stark girl, never mind the fact that it was her who had initiated it first.

So when he penned his first letter to his sister, he made no mention of the little lady of Winterfell. 

 _Cersei need not know about this_ , he thought. He would not give his twin undue cause to worry.

 

* * *

  

He’d barely been at Winterfell for three moons when he witnessed his first beheading. The man had been a member of the Night’s Watch -  _a deserter,_ Brandon had whispered in his ear - and Jaime watched him as he was dragged to his feet and made to kneel in the centre of the square, his frostbitten face perfectly aligned to the ironwood stump that would serve as his deathbed.

 _It is king’s justice_ , Lord Stark had explained to him on the way to the holdfast.  _The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword._  

His father would surely disagree.  _A death is a death,_ he imagined Lord Tywin saying.  _It does not matter how it is done, so long as it makes your enemies fear you._ Nevertheless, it fascinated Jaime, this idea that it was the lord’s responsibility to end a man’s life. Perhaps one day, once he is Lord of Casterly Rock, he, too, would have a greatsword like Ice to call his own. It was a nice thought.

“Remember, Jaime, you mustn’t look away. Else Father would know,” Brandon reminded him. Beside him, Benjen gave him a nod that Jaime supposed was meant to be reassuring. It galled him to know that Benjen, skinny little Benjen of all people, had seen worse sights than this at an age when Jaime had only started practicing with swords.

So he didn’t look away. His pride wouldn’t let him. Lord Stark raised Ice and delivered the final blow, and Jaime swallowed back the bile in his throat and forced himself to keep looking. Blood spouted from the man’s neck, staining the snow a deep red, and he met Lord Stark's gaze from across the square. The Warden of the North nodded at him, his face impassive.

“You did good,” Brandon said, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

Afterwards, Lyanna found him at the hot springs, as Jaime had known she would. She had a habit of finding him whenever he least wanted her presence, which often was the case.

“Were you frightened, seeing Father kill that man?” she asked him without preamble.

“A lion is never afraid,” Jaime replied, head held high.

Lyanna perched herself on a nearby rock and surveyed him with eyes that were too wise for a girl her age. “I wish I could have accompanied you,” she lamented. "But Father says girls aren’t allowed.”

“Probably with good reason. Killing men is a bloody thing. You wouldn’t like the sight.” Jaime paused for a moment, then confessed, “I had never seen a man get killed before.” He couldn’t stop thinking about the man in black.

“I could think of a few things to distract you from that,” Lyanna volunteered with an impish smile.

“Let’s hear it then.”

“Teach me how to wield a sword. I’ve seen you with Brandon. You’re quite good.” The stubborn look was back in Lyanna’s eye now, as though she fully expected Jaime to reject her, as her brothers had done, no doubt.

Despite himself, Jaime smiled. He’d seen the way she looked at him when he was sparring with Brandon. He thought she’d never ask. “Lord Stark would skin me alive if he finds out about this,” he told her.

His father would also skin him alive if word of this reaches him, but this far up North, who would bother to tell Lord Tywin? Besides, Jaime was bored and the idea of doing something forbidden was too tempting to ignore. And, if he was being honest with himself, Lyanna was starting to grow on him. She wasn’t shy around him, the way the girls at the Rock had been, and though they argued more times than they could count - Brandon claimed it was because they were too alike in spirit - she also had the uncanny ability of being able to console him with snippy comments whenever he was feeling homesick. So if Lyanna wanted to play at knights, who was Jaime to stop her? 

“Is that a yes?” Lyanna exclaimed, barely managing to rein in her excitement.

“Have I mentioned the part where I said Lord Stark would skin me alive?”

Lyanna smirked. “So then let’s agree to keep it a secret," she said. "You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

Jaime remembered the way Cersei’s eyes sparkled whenever he would kiss her and said, “Oh, you needn’t fear. I can keep a secret.”

 

* * *

  

“You’re distracted.”

“Am not,” Lyanna declared a moment before she swung her wooden sword at Jaime with enough force to send an army running to the hills. He avoided the blow just in time to retaliate with a right-sided feint followed by a swift jab to the middle.

Normally, Lyanna no longer fell for such tricks. But that afternoon, she fell to the ground with a grunt and was immediately disarmed. When she stood up, there were streaks of mud on her cheek, reminding Jaime of a wild boar they’d hunted just a week prior, and he had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“You are,” Jaime taunted her. “This is the fifth time I’ve defeated you so quickly. What’s wrong? Has your moonblood finally arrived?”

“ _No._ Gods, don’t be ridiculous.” Lyanna made a face at him before finally giving up on her lessons and lying back on the ground.

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s too embarrassing,” Lyanna mumbled, covering her face with her hands so she’d be free from Jaime’s prying gaze.

“You know you always end up telling me everything, right? Even the things I don’t wish to hear about?”

“Yes, but this is different,” she insisted.

Jaime knelt to the ground and pinched Lyanna on the arm so she’d be forced to look at him again. She retaliated by throwing a pile of dirt at his head, which he easily avoided. “Tell me,” he demanded.

Lyanna huffed and looked warily at him. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise,” Jaime responded solemnly, fingers crossed behind his back.

“Yesterday, I overheard Brandon with the other squires,” Lyanna began. “They were talking about women. You know how Brandon is. He likes to boast about everything. And, well... it got me thinking. The way he was describing it... He made it seem so - well,  _good._ And it’s not like I know, you know? Because I’ve never... No one has ever -”

“Just to be clear, Lyanna,” Jaime interrupted her before she could go off on another tangent. “What exactly are we talking about here?”

Lyanna’s face turned an alarming shade of red. Jaime had never seen her look this flustered. “I was wondering what it would feel like to kiss a boy,” she admitted.

It was the last thing Jaime had expected her to say. Objectively, he knew she was a girl, of course. It was hard not to, not when she was the only female of upstanding birth within a five-mile radius that he was allowed to interact with on a daily basis, not when Brandon spoiled her with pretty baubles every time he came home from his travels, and certainly not when Lord Stark took great pains to remind her every day to act more like a lady and less like a wolf.

But for as long as he’d known her, she’d never once expressed such girlish fantasies before. The idea of her kissing some stableboy behind a haystack felt foreign to him. It didn’t sound like her at all.

He frowned. “Why would you even want to do such a thing?”

“Why not?” Lyanna countered, that familiar stubborn look back in her eyes. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

Jaime didn’t respond.

The clear implications of his silence made Lyanna gasp. She stared accusingly at him and said, “Oh gods. You’ve done it before, haven’t you? You’ve  _kissed_  someone.”

“Need I remind you that I am one and ten?” Jaime raised an eyebrow haughtily at her. “Of course I have experience in such matters.”

“Yes, but so am I.  _I’m_ one and ten. And I’ve never been kissed before. No one will probably want to.” Lyanna said this with such shame and horror it should have made him laugh. But she looked like she was on the verge of tears, and girlish fancies or not, Jaime hated it when she cried. She reminded him too much of Cersei whenever she did that, if only because both women rarely cried.

“It’s alright. Oh hells, Lya, please don’t cry.” Jaime inched closer to her and, before he could even fully comprehend what he was doing, kissed her square on the mouth. It was a short kiss - clumsy and messy and not at all like the kisses he and Cersei had shared in the past - but Lyanna’s lips were soft and Jaime was so close to her he could feel the fluttering of her lashes against his skin, and all of a sudden he felt warm, warmer than he had in months. 

When he finally pulled away for air, Lyanna’s eyes were wide.

“There,” Jaime said gruffly, trying not to stare too much as Lyanna brought a trembling hand to her lips. “Now you’ve been properly kissed. Can we go back to our lessons now?”

Lyanna nodded, silent for once. A look of understanding passed between them.

_Don’t tell Brandon._

 

* * *

 

The day of Ned Stark’s visit arrived without much fanfare. 

 _The prodigal son returns,_ Brandon had exclaimed, only half-jesting. 

They threw a feast in his honour, and there was wine and roasted deer and stuffed pigeon pies, and Jaime hated every moment of it.

He didn’t dare say it out loud in Lyanna’s presence, but he didn’t think he liked her brother very much. The boy barely smiled, save for when Lyanna would whisper gleefully in his ear and Benjen would tug on his arm to grab his attention, and he had what Brandon had called “a lord’s face”. 

Jaime had tried to be on his best behavior, for Lord Stark's sake as much as Lyanna’s, but at the end of the day, he didn’t think all the gold in Casterly Rock could ever make him and Ned Stark get along. While he and Brandon were as thick as thieves, he and the middle Stark boy had nothing in common. Nothing save for the affection they bear for Lyanna.

But at the moment, that affection was being sorely tested. Jaime wished Lyanna would talk to him, but ever since her elder brother’s arrival, she’d been glued to his side and had not once traded annoying jabs with Jaime, the way she’d been wont to do in the past. This would have suited his purposes just fine, except he’d been hearing some strange rumours about his twin lately - something about an engagement to Prince Rhaegar - and he could have really used Lyanna’s help in distracting him.

“My good friend Robert has written to you, Lya,” he could hear Ned telling her. “I have told him much about you and he seemed... taken with you. Would it please you to write him back?”

Lyanna’s face soured at the mention of a potential suitor. “No, it most certainly will not,” she responded loudly, much to Ned’s consternation.

“Robert of Storm’s End? Steffan’s oldest boy?”

Jaime did not like the faraway look that suddenly crossed Lord Stark's face. It was the same look his father often wore when he was in the midst of deciding which troops he would sacrifice in order to win a battle. 

He had a feeling that, precious daughter though she may be, Lyanna was about to become a pawn for reasons far beyond her comprehension.

 _Poor Lya,_ Jaime thought.

 

* * *

  

“What’s troubling you? You look like you just swallowed a lemon,” Lyanna mumbled as she observed him from the other side of the bed, eyes heavy-lidded from the milk of the poppy.

Jaime huffed and resisted the urge to smother her with a pillow. He was being especially testy today, his father’s news notwithstanding, and he’d barely had the willpower to visit her on her sickbed even though Benjen had pounced on him in the training yard earlier to tell him that Lyanna had asked for him. It had taken him hours before he finally capitulated, and only because Brandon would have his head if he did anything to hurt his precious sister’s feelings.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why must you give meaning to my every look?” Jaime snapped, his temper fraying at the edges.

Lyanna coolly raised an eyebrow at him and lifted her arm. “I’m the one with the broken arm, Jaime, yet you look more hurt than I am. Now tell me, truly, what it is that bothers you.”

Jaime did not want to talk about it. Now that he’d seen her and was satisfied with the state of her health, all he wanted at the moment was to flee the room so he could maim the straw dummies outside a thousand more times in the hopes that it would make him feel better. It probably would not, but at this point, he was willing to try anything.

_“Jaime.”_

He sighed. He hated it when she said his name like that - all equal parts needy and reproachful. It always made him give in.

“My sister is to marry Prince Rhaegar in the Sept of Baelor on the morrow,” he finally told her, his heart heavy at the mere thought of it. “I can’t even go see her. My lord father has forbidden it.”

Lyanna frowned. “Why not?”

“He probably thinks I might stop the wedding. Or that Cersei would change her mind once she sees me. Well, he needn’t fear that,” he said, smiling bitterly. “Once Cersei decides that she wants something, she is not like to change her mind about it.”

“I shall pray to the gods then that she finds happiness in her marriage. I don’t envy her the burden of the crown, but they say the Silver Prince is good and honourable. Mayhaps there is hope yet for a love match.”

“But I love her.” The words spilled out of his chest like heavy arrows, and once he said them, he found himself unable to take them back.

“Of course you do. She’s your twin.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jaime said desperately, shaking his head. “Lya, I  _love_ her.” 

Lyanna’s eyes finally grew wide with understanding. She parted her lips in wordless surprise, but the condemnation and disgust that Jaime had expected to see in her eyes was not there. But of course it wasn’t. She was  _Lyanna_. However much she loved her brothers, however much Jaime knew that she would never feel for them what he’d felt for Cersei, she was the last person in the world who would ever judge him for it.

That did not mean she was happy about it, though. “Seven hells, Jaime,” she exclaimed. “Of all the stupid, reckless things in the world -”

“I didn’t  _ask_  for this,” Jaime replied. “It’s not like I knelt in front of the Seven and prayed for them to make me fall in love with my own sister -”

“Ugh, you’re such an idiot,” Lyanna said with a sigh. She reached for his hand and pulled him closer so that her eyes were level with his, their shoulders bumping against one another’s. “Stupid or not though, I’m sure your sister loves you still. How could she not?”

“You can’t tell anyone, Lya. Promise me you won’t.”

Lyanna’s grip on his hand tightened. “Silly boy. You’re part of the pack now. Your secret is safe with me.”

Jaime stared at her with eyes just a little bit brighter, feeling like that lost boy of nine again, alone and adrift in the cold. He gripped Lyanna’s hand like it was an anchor and allowed her to a place a kiss upon his cheek.

“You are far stronger than you realise,” she told Jaime. “You will heal from this.”

 

* * *

 

The mutinous expression on Lyanna’s face matched Jaime’s. 

“It is done,” she said in a strangled tone as she crossed the clearing where Jaime had been hacking away at innocent tree stumps for gods know how long. He looked up at the sound of her voice. “Father has betrothed me to Robert.”

Jaime’s face twisted. “And Father has designs to betroth me to fucking Lysa Tully,” was his reply. 

“He  _what?”_

For a moment, Lyanna forgot the injustice of her own situation. 

“A raven came this morning,” Jaime offered by way of explanation. He looked mad enough to slaughter an entire House while The Rains of Castamere played in the background. If Lyanna had not known him so well, she would have left him well enough alone. “I am to go home as soon as the snow on the roads clear.”

“But -”

In the end, Lyanna knew better than to protest. Jaime could tell that she was just as shocked and miserable by the news as he was. Lyanna had clung to him from the first moment she’d seen him at Winterfell all those years ago, and with her brothers rarely at home, save for Benjen, Jaime could well imagine how hard his absence would hit her.

But he was hardly her brother now, was he? He wasn’t a replacement for her brothers anymore than she was a replacement for Cersei, that much he knew. He and Lyanna had never treated each other as siblings. Far from it. But they had been friends.

Regardless of those things, Jaime was surprised at how hard he himself was taking the news. He’d dreamed of nothing else but going back to Casterly Rock for the first few moons of his captivity, but somewhere along the way, he’d grown used to Winterfell. It would never be home to him, but he’d had countless of fond memories here - learning how to ride like a Northman, though never as good as the Stark siblings, going sledding for the first time, wandering the crypts late at night with Brandon and Benjen while Lyanna tried to scare them with stories she’d heard from Nan - and without him even realising it, the snow that he’d once hated so much had ceased to affect him as time passed.

Lord Stark had been a distant father, both to his true born children and his foster child, but he had taught Jaime much as well, things that he never would have learned had he stayed at his father’s castle for the remainder of his childhood, and though Jaime wasn’t smart - not the way Tyrion was smart, not even by half - he thought he understood how the world worked a bit better now that he’d seen the so-called Northern justice for himself.

But perhaps most importantly, he’d learned to survive the winter, something no Southron - not even his own father - had managed to do before.

“Will you write to me, once you’re back home?”

Jaime gave Lyanna his most infuriating smirk. He’d rather she stayed mad at him than for her to feel sad on his behalf. “Only if you admit that you will miss me.”

Lyanna snorted. “Miss you? Ha! You think too highly of yourself. I will miss having a sparring partner and someone to torment at meal times, yes, but miss you? I think not.”

Her words were harsh, but her refusal to look Jaime in the eye told him all that he needed to know. “And I will miss having someone to bully and throw curse words at,” he responded in kind. “Perhaps I will write to you, after all. It would be a delight to tell you of all the ways my life would improve now that I am finally rid of you wolves.”

Lyanna shoved him to the ground. Jaime shoved back. And before he knew it, Lyanna was hugging him hard enough to leave bruises, her eyes suspiciously dry yet full of a sadness that Jaime would be hard pressed to admit that he felt as well.

“I don’t care how horrid Lysa Tully is,” she told him. “If you don’t name at least one of your children after me, I shall ride all the way to the South just to chop your balls off.”

Jaime laughed. “I’ve no doubt you would.”

 

* * *

 

The welcome he received back at Casterly Rock had been nothing short of grand. He was greeted by a slew of Lannister relatives, his uncles Tygett and Gerion included, and Tyrion had launched himself into his arms the moment he saw him, no doubt emboldened by Lord Tywin’s absence. According to Jaime’s Aunt Genna, his father was still holed up in King’s Landing playing the game of thrones with King Aerys, whatever that meant.

He thought he’d finally be happy to be back home, but staring at his old chambers, with everything looking exactly the way he’d left it, only reminded him that Cersei was no longer there. There would be no secret dalliances beneath dark stairways, no sneaking into Cersei’s room late at night, no whispered confidences about the many ways they’d find ways to be together even after her marriage. 

The thought of his sister sharing the prince’s bed stung, but not as much as it had a few moons ago. Perhaps distance and time had made everything better, as Lyanna had said it would. 

Despite the many comforts of home, he found it hard to adjust to life at Casterly Rock. He often slept with the windows wide open and the bedcovers thrown back, and Jaime thought it rather unfair that he’d spent so much of his time at Winterfell dreaming of the warm sunshine of the West only for him to come back here and complain that it wasn’t cold enough.

The afternoons he spent wandering around the Stone Garden were the worst. He would stare at the twisted weirwood - a pale imitation of the ones they had at the North - and hate himself for thinking that, were Lyanna here, this would be the first place he’d take her to. 

He found himself missing her as the days went by. He sparred with his father’s men every morning yet couldn’t help but find fault with them. They were a better match for him than Lyanna had ever been, but somehow, not a single one of them seemed engaging enough. They didn’t play dirty, nor distracted him with japes crude enough to make even a sailor blush. In other words, they weren’t Lyanna.

They wrote letters to each other, as Jaime had promised them they would. Lyanna spoke of her impending marriage to Robert with such despair and anger that Jaime felt bad for her. That pity turned to rage when Lyanna mentioned the news that Robert had fathered a bastard at the Eyrie. Jaime had half a mind to storm all the way South to kill the whoring bastard himself, but he suspected that Lyanna would resent him for taking away that privilege from her so instead, like the good sword instructor that he was, he’d written her detailed instructions for delivering a killing blow and hoped that she’d find comfort in that.

“Whose letter is that from? Is that from Cersei?” his little brother asked him one day. Tyrion had climbed his way up to the watchtower facing west to read in peace, only to find Jaime already there, folded piece of parchment in one hand.

“No, it’s from Lyanna,” Jaime corrected him, surprised that no one had told Tyrion of his fallout with Cersei. But perhaps no one had known, none save for Jaime. And Lyanna, of course.

“Lord Stark's daughter?” Tyrion looked intrigued. “Were you close with her?”

Jaime shrugged. He had neither the patience nor the energy to explain to his little brother who Lyanna was to him, especially not now when her latest missive indicated that she was growing more and more miserable the longer she was betrothed to Robert. “You’ll like her,” he said instead.

“Can I visit her at Winterfell, when I’m older? I’d like to see the Wall when I get there too.”

“You can’t. She won’t be there much longer. She’s to be the future Lady of Storm’s End.” Jaime went on to explain about Lyanna’s unwanted betrothal, which eventually led him to talk about his own unfortunate, soon-to-be-official betrothal as well. 

Tyrion frowned. “So Lady Lyanna dislikes Lord Robert while you dislike Lady Lysa.” He stared at Jaime curiously with his mismatched eyes. “Do you like Lady Lyanna well enough?”

“She’s... tolerable.”

“Then isn’t it obvious what the two of you should do?” 

For a moment, Tyrion’s words rendered him speechless. But then an idea suddenly wormed its way into Jaime’s head. He tried to dismiss it, but the longer he tried to banish the thoughts from his mind, the more his brain started to cling onto the idea. “Brother, you’re as wise as an old crone,” he said with a grin. “Yes. _Of course_. We ought to run away, Lyanna and I. It’s the only option I have left, save for strangling Lysa on my wedding day.”

Tyrion looked at him as though he had lost his wits. “ _Run away?_ What are you talking about? You can’t run away, Jaime. No matter where you are, Father will find you. Besides, that’s not what I was trying to tell you.”

“What were you trying to tell me then?” 

“I only meant... why don’t you just marry each other?” Tyrion said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to do. “The Starks are just as powerful, if not more so, than the Tullys. Father would hate being derailed, as you well know, and he’d hate to lose a potential ally so close to our borders, but if you played your cards right, in the end, he might be persuaded. He can’t overly object to the match, not when he’d gain Northern support.”

Jaime gaped at him. He’d known Tyrion was smart, but apparently he’d underestimated him, if such a thing was possible. In a twisted sort of way, the idea made sense. But Jaime had never been the type of person who listened to reason. It was a convenient way to resolve the situation, true, but one that would be sure to bring about new complications. And Jaime had had enough complications to last him a lifetime.

Tyrion saw the stubborn frown on his brother’s face and shouldered on, “It’s either her or the Tully girl. Who else is left for you to marry?”

Jaime shrugged. His mind was already made up. “No one else decent, apparently,” he said. “But you and I both know that married life will not suit me. So I must do what I must. Lyanna and I will find our own happiness someplace else. I trust you can help us and keep this a secret?”

The undisguised horror on Tyrion’s face should have made him think twice about his decision, but it only served to heighten Jaime’s amusement. He ruffled Tyrion’s hair affectionately and said, “Don’t fret, brother. You should be happy. Casterly Rock would be yours. And I won’t be gone forever, not truly. Years from now when you’re finally declared Warden of the West, you need only send us a raven to let us know that it’s safe to come home and we shall see each other again.”

Tyrion’s eyes welled up with tears, but Jaime wasn’t worried. He knew he would always have his brother’s loyalty. 

“You’ve gone mad, Jaime,” Tyrion said, voice trembling. “ _Mad_.” 

Jaime merely laughed.

 

* * *

  

“I heard you gave birth to a daughter. Rhaenys, I believe she’s called? Charming name. Has a nice ring to it.”

Cersei stepped out of the shadows and turned around, and for the first time in seven years, Jaime came face to face with his twin. His gaze swept over her figure. Those burning green eyes, the way the sunlight glinted off the gold of her hair... even after all these years, it still felt like staring at a mirror. But the longer Jaime looked at her, the more he started to notice the many ways his twin had changed - the regal set to her shoulders, the slight bump of her belly and the protective hand resting over it. She was still Cersei yet at the same time, she was no longer Jaime’s Cersei.

“Hello, sister.”

When Jaime had ridden off to Harrenhal for Lord Whent’s tourney at the risk of incurring his father’s wrath, he had known that his sister was going to be there. He thought he’d never find the chance to be alone with her, not now that she was a princess, but one dismissive nod was all it took for Cersei’s guards and ladies to disappear.

Once they were finally alone, Cersei hesitated just a fraction of a second before flinging herself at him. Jaime wrapped his arms around her, feeling that familiar surge of affection that rushed over him whenever Cersei was by his side. If he tried hard enough, he could almost fool himself into thinking that they were children again, bound by blood, birth, and the many secrets they’d shared over the years.

“I did not think you would come,” Cersei reluctantly admitted, resting her cheek against his shoulder. She’d grown taller, Jaime noticed, but then again, so had he. “Not after your last letter. I had thought you were -”

“Angry?” Jaime finished for her. “For a time, I was. But I can’t say I blame you. You’d always wanted to be royalty, and it had always been in the best interests of our family if you succeeded. I was foolish to think that we’d ever have a future together.”

Cersei withdrew from his embrace, her expression suddenly wary and confused. “What do you mean? Have you given up, Jaime?” she asked him. “Because I certainly haven’t. I haven’t forgotten you, not even with me wed to Rhaegar. We can still be together. I’ve thought it through. You need only join the Kingsguard. When you do, nobody, not even Father, not even the Mad King himself, would be able to tear us apart again.”

Jaime's mouth dropped open. Whatever it was he was expecting his twin to say, it certainly wasn’t this. “But I am to be married,” he said, conveniently leaving out the part where he would rather run himself through with a sword than go through with the match.

“To the Tully bitch? Yes, I’ve heard.” Cersei pursed her lips in distaste. “Has Father gone mad? He can’t seriously mean to wed you to that dullard.”

“Believe me, no one is as aggrieved by this as me,” Jaime said with a sigh. And because he rarely thought before he spoke, he added, “Or would you rather I had a Northern bride instead?” 

Cersei’s green eyes flashed, and Jaime realised a moment too late that he had said the wrong thing. “Are you talking about Lord Stark’s daughter? That horse-faced savage pretending to be a girl? Why, has her father been making plans?”

“That horse-faced savage has a name. You may call her Lady Lyanna. And no, Lord Stark hasn’t been making plans. Not that I know of.”

Now it was Cersei’s turn to stare at him. Even after all these years, she knew him well. “By the gods. She’s the one you actually want.”

Jaime cursed himself for his loose tongue. Knowing Cersei, she would declare war on Lyanna if it would only mean having Jaime back. From now on, he would have to be careful not to be seen with Lyanna alone. Any hint of weakness, any suggestion that Jaime would deviate from the plans their father made for him, and Cersei wouldn’t hesitate to pounce on him. Then he and Lyanna would be truly done for.

The frosty expression never left Cersei’s face. It held, even when Jaime tried to touch her on the shoulder in a poor effort to get her to calm down. But it only served to enrage his twin further. She swatted his hand away and snarled, “You’ve been running with the wolves for so long that you’ve forgotten who you are, brother. You’re no wolf. You’re a lion.”

“I’m not the one who has forgotten,” Jaime told her in a desperate attempt to change the subject. “I know who I am and I know that I cannot be content with the life you’ve planned for me. You wish me to father bastards and forsake my honour and titles? And all for what? For a few stolen nights whenever your husband is away? Cersei, if you love me true, you’d let me go.”

Cersei reeled back as though Jaime had struck her. “So that’s it, then? You’re choosing the she-wolf over me?”

“I’m not choosing either of you. I’m choosing myself,” Jaime said, just as stubborn as ever. He cupped her cheek and kissed her for the last time, and for a moment, Cersei let him. “I love you, sister. I always will. But I won’t let you ruin your one chance of happiness just because you feel the need to have me near you. We both deserve better than that.”

Cersei’s eyes shone with unshed tears. Jaime knew it would be the last time she’d ever let him see her this way. “Get out,” she whispered. When Jaime did not move, she screamed a second time, “ _Get out_!”

“Goodbye, Cersei,” Jaime said with a bitter smile.

Perhaps it would have been different if he hadn’t been separated from her at an early age. Perhaps then he would have done anything - given up his inheritance, risked their father’s anger - just for a chance to be near her. In another life, the thought of being physically separated from her would’ve killed him. But as it was, Jaime had spent a lifetime missing Cersei and discovered, to his surprise, that he was capable of surviving without her and that he could not, in fact,  _die_  from heartsickness. He loved Cersei still and he would give his life for her, if need be, but the days when he blindly followed her every word were long past. 

With or without his twin, he was still  _whole_. It took him seven years living with the Starks to realise that. The thought made him both sad and brave. 

 

* * *

  

“Seven hells!” Lyanna startled at his approach. “What are you doing here?”

“What are  _you_  doing here?”

“Nothing.” Lyanna tried to hide the Knight of the Laughing Tree’s shield out of view, but it was too late. Jaime felt torn between laughing and cursing as he started to piece together what had happened.

He sighed. “Why am I not surprised that it’s you?”

Lyanna shot him a look. “Are you just going to stand there like an idiot and not help me? Now that you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Jaime watched Lyanna as she dug a hole in the ground with a shovel that she’d probably filched from a hapless servant and, when he could no longer bear to watch her toiling away, he took the shovel from her hands and finished her work with a speed that would have made his past self proud. “Who else knows about this?” he asked her in a whisper.

“Just Benjen and Howland. And now you.” Lyanna gazed at him imploringly. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“I won’t if you do this one little thing for me.” 

“What thing?” Lyanna asked him warily.

Jaime grinned. “Run away with me,” he said with all the casualness and confidence of a Lannister heir.

Lyanna’s mouth dropped open in a most unladylike manner. It was exactly the sort of reaction he’d expected from her. “I’m sorry. _What_ did you just say?”

“Have you grown deaf? I said, let’s run away.”

This time, Lyanna hit him on the shoulder, the way she always did whenever she was upset with him. “What kind of nonsense are you saying now? Has being back in the West addled your wits?”

Jaime rolled his eyes at her and held her wrist to prevent her from hitting him again. “You do not wish to be Robert’s wife anymore than I wish to be Lysa’s husband,” he pointed out. “So what else is left for us to do? Do you have a better idea?”

“Are you asking me to  _marry_  you?” Lyanna looked justifiably appalled.

“What? Of course not.” Jaime shook his head. “But I would sooner go to the Free Cities and live my life as a sellsword than marry Lysa Tully. And I would like it if you came with me.”

Lyanna’s eyes sparkled at the mention of the Free Cities. But what she said instead was, “But what about our families? Father would have my head! Benjen and Ned would be heartbroken. And Brandon...”

Jaime met her gaze with a grim smile. He could well imagine how her eldest brother would take the news. “You can write to them to let them know you haven’t been taken against your will. In time, they will forgive you.”

“What if they don’t?”

“They will,” Jaime insisted. “They’ll probably blame me, but I can live with that.”

He could see her warming up to the idea, despite how well she tried to hide it from him. Because the truth of the matter was, he and Lyanna were more alike than either of them would care to admit. They were both restless souls, desperate to escape the confines of their various stations in life. Lyanna, in particular, had a lion’s heart and all the fierceness of a wolf in winter. So no matter the fallout from this, Jaime had no doubt that she would survive.

“So? What shall it be? Will you be Lya? Or Lady Baratheon?”

It was Jaime’s last words that did it. Lyanna exhaled, squared her shoulders, and let out a breathless laugh. It made her look younger than her sixteen years, and it reminded Jaime of the brave little girl who had raced him on horseback all those years ago at Winterfell. 

“I’ll pack my bags,” she decided, grey eyes bright with promise.

 

* * *

 

The sun was high in the sky when Jaime approached the stands. He was sweating despite having removed his helm, and the sunlight hurt his eyes, but he merely tossed his head and shot the crowd a winsome grin, which only made them cheer harder for him. 

No doubt the Mad King was seething with anger now that a mere boy of ten and six had managed to unseat the Targaryen heir, and not just any boy, but Tywin’s boy, the same one he’d banished to the North in a fit of cruelty. 

But although Prince Rhaegar was skilled with a lance, enough to defeat the likes of Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell, Jaime was just as good. His arrogance had almost cost him the tourney championship though, and it was only his quick reflexes and the many years spent riding with the Stark siblings that had saved him from toppling over. Which was just as well, because Jaime would never forgive himself if he lost to Prince Rhaegar. He did not think he would be able to bear Cersei’s gloating for the remainder of his days at Harrenhal.

For a moment, he contemplated crowning his sister Queen of Love and Beauty as a form of apology. But the idea was only short-lived. In his mind, he could think of only one other person who deserved the crown.

He smirked at Lyanna’s horrified expression as he approached her and barely noticed that the crowd had now gone quiet. 

“My lady.” He offered her the crown of winter roses and sent her his most exasperating smile. 

Lyanna could only stare at the flowers in mute shock. Beside her, Ned Stark stiffened in his seat. Benjen merely shook his head as though he was done contemplating his sister and his foster brother’s idiotic ways while Brandon cursed him to the moon and back, not caring who heard him. Jaime had no doubt that, had they not grown up together, Brandon’s reaction would have been far worse, but at that moment, he could barely bring himself to care. He had more important matters to attend to, after all. Running away, for one.

“Jaime Lannister, have you gone insane?” Lyanna hissed through gritted teeth. Her eyes were wide with panic.

Jaime laughed with reckless abandon. He could practically feel the heat of Lord Robert’s glare singeing him through the many layers of his armour. No doubt, tongues would be wagging before the day was over, but Jaime knew this was a risk he had to take.

He had grown wary of his sister’s spies, and save for that one fateful meeting he had with Lyanna in the woods after the Knight of the Laughing Tree incident, he didn’t dare approach her again without arousing suspicion.

But they were quickly running out of time. This tourney was his last chance to send word to Lyanna of their escape, so he had no choice but to win. Besides, Jaime never could resist the chance to show off.

Taking care not to fall off his saddle, he bent forward and placed the crown of roses on Lyanna’s head before she had the chance to do something drastic, like throw the crown back at his face. It seemed like the sort of thing Lyanna would do, given her impeccable aim. And that, Jaime was not willing to risk.

“Meet me at the stables tonight after the feast,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s time.”

Lyanna’s expression shifted imperceptibly. Anyone else would have missed it, but Jaime was not like everyone else. He knew Lyanna almost as well as the back of his hand now, thanks to his time in the North, and he had reason to suspect that she knew him just as well too. It was a thing that should have disturbed him, but Jaime didn’t really like dwelling too deeply on his feelings. At least that, he had in common with his family.

Lyanna bent her head, one hand on her new crown, and said in a voice so soft no one else but him could hear, “I’ll be there. But you better not leave me behind, Jaime. Or I swear to the gods I’ll fucking murder you.”

Jaime grinned. “Leave you behind? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

* * *

 

If Jaime had had his way, he would have forgone the feast altogether and rode away on his silver horse together with Lyanna. He had grown sick of feasts as of late, not that anyone could blame him for that. But if he left Harrenhal too early, Cersei might grow suspicious. It didn’t seem wise for Lyanna to do so either, since her absence would surely not go unnoticed, especially now that Lord Baratheon seemed intent on spending as much time with his betrothed as propriety would allow him to. 

But Jaime wasn’t scared of him. Not particularly. He did, however, fear what the Stark brothers would do to him if word of his plotting reaches them. If their reactions to Jaime crowning Lyanna as his Queen of Love and Beauty were any indication, they would surely rain the seven hells upon him the moment Jaime gave them cause to do so. Benjen he felt he could reason with, but Brandon and Eddard Stark? Not a chance. Not even Brandon - Brandon who considered him a brother in everything but name - would be able to forgive him for daring to put a stain on their sister’s honour by running away with her. 

As for his father... Coldness to his children aside, Jaime still regarded his father so highly that he didn’t think it was actually possible for the man to die, but Jaime leaving the Rock for his little brother Tyrion to manage so he could run away with a Northern girl promised to another might just do the trick. His father would no doubt go to the ends of the world to retrieve him, but between him and Lyanna, Jaime figured they still stood a chance.

Jaime searched for Lyanna amongst the crowd and found her deep in conversation with her brothers, Howland Reed sticking to her side like a sore thumb. It wasn’t surprising, really, given the fact that Lyanna had a habit of helping strays and befriending anyone who was in need of a friend. 

He wanted to head over to the Starks’ table and ask her what was so vexing that she had to pour wine over Brandon’s head, but he knew his presence would not be well met, given the circumstances. So instead, he settled for waiting.

His chance came when Brandon pulled Lyanna into a dance. Jaime snatched a perplexed Ashara Dayne, the nearest lady within his reach, and dragged her to the dance floor. Moments later, as Jaime had hoped, they had to switch partners.

He met Brandon’s glowering stare with a smirk of his own. 

“My lady.” He bowed gallantly at Lyanna and offered her his hand.

Lyanna glanced cautiously at her brother, but to their relief, his newfound exasperation with Jaime was cut short the moment he laid eyes on Ashara. How predictable. Lyanna rolled her eyes behind his back and followed Jaime. When they were well out of Brandon’s earshot, she raised an eyebrow at him and chided him, “What happened to being discreet?”

Jaime had the gall to wink at her. “When has being discreet ever suited either of us, Lya?”

“You idiot.” Lyanna’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You shouldn’t have danced with me. We’re drawing attention to ourselves. What if someone suspects and catches us before we leave?”

“For once in your life, Lyanna Stark, would you please just shut up and follow my lead?” Jaime said with none of his usual bite. He twirled her around and delighted in the genuine laugh he’d managed to coax out of her. It was good to hear Lyanna laugh again. It was one of the things he’d missed when he was sent home, though Jaime would die first before admitting it to her. 

“Your sister is staring at us. She does not look happy,” Lyanna whispered as Jaime dipped her to the floor, his arm wrapped securely around her waist to keep her from falling.

“Your precious Lord Robert is staring at me too,” Jaime informed her. For a moment it seemed as though he relished the attention, but then his expression changed, transforming him from charming knight to fierce lion in less than a heartbeat. It was a look that Lyanna had worn one too many times, and it suited Jaime just as much as it suited her.

“To hell with Lord Robert,” he said, jaw tightening. “To hell with all of them.”

They stayed on the dance floor for far longer than was appropriate, one defiant act in a series of many more to come. 

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure about this?”

They were at the stables at the hour of the wolf, moments away from their daring escape. Jaime paused in the act of tying the saddlebags and peered at Lyanna closely. Though this had been his idea initially, he felt compelled by honour - or what little he had of it, anyway - to ask her again. “Say the word, Lady Lyanna, and I would escort you back to your tent with your family none the wiser. I’ll try not to resent you too much for changing your mind.”

Lyanna scoffed. Under the cover of darkness and disguised as she was in her ill-fitting breeches and simple tunic, no one would mistake her for a lady of a great House. At the most, she looked like one of the common folk - a pretty-faced stable boy or a brusque servant girl playing at being the adventurer. Aside from her hair, which they’d agreed to chop off as soon as they put enough distance between themselves and Harrenhal, Jaime felt confident that she wouldn’t be recognised.

“Lady Stark, Jaime?  _Really_?” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “Stop pretending to be so polite. It doesn’t suit you.”

Jaime ignored the jibe and pressed on. “The journey won’t be an easy one,” he felt compelled to remind her once more. “We can’t risk using the Lannister gold Tyrion had helped me steal from my father, so we’d likely have to sleep out in the open. That means no feather bed, no home cooked meals, no warm baths every day. At any moment, we could get separated. And the farther we travel, the greater the risk of running into thieves and outlaws. With your luck, we might even chance upon a rapist or two.”

“Good thing you taught me how to use a sword then,” was Lyanna’s reply. She did not look afraid. But then again, Jaime had not expected her to.

“Yes. Good thing,” Jaime echoed. He watched Lyanna mount her horse with ease, her chin lifted high. She was ready, or as ready as one could ever be. 

Jaime had no doubt that before long, she would find some way to annoy him on the road, as was her nature. He could already picture the arguments that would follow - Lyanna insisting on taking the first watch despite the strain it would put on Jaime’s ego, Jaime insulting Lyanna’s terrible cooking skills which would result in them bickering all the way to the port, whereupon Jaime would threaten to hurl Lyanna off the ship if she didn’t shut up for one moment, and so on and so forth. Despite these potential scenarios though, Jaime had a feeling that he would enjoy travelling with Lyanna. He thought he’d miss home less if she was with him. Thank the gods she was too stubborn to take him up on his offer to bring her back home.

“No regrets then?” Jaime asked her one last time.

The smile on Lyanna’s face was answer enough. “No regrets,” she said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the "Jaime and Lyanna running away AU" had already been done, like, a million times, but I still wanted to try my hand at writing one. Lmk what you think?
> 
> Initially, I had a different ending in mind for this story. Jaime gets backed into a corner with his marriage to Lysa, so he ends up convincing his father to marry him off to Lyanna instead. But right after I wrote that scene, I realized that it was probably more in-character for Jaime to run away instead of settling for marriage and inheriting the Rock, so I immediately scrapped that one and started over. Idk. I'm still struggling to write his character the best way I can, tbh.
> 
> Speaking of Jaime's character, can I just say for the billionth time that I'm still so mad over what they did to show! Jaime? And show! Dany! And yes, I still won't shut up about it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so let me start this by saying that I suck at sequels. No, really, I do. There's a reason I rarely write them, and it's not just because I don't have the time. But since many of you have been asking for one, and quite nicely too, I might add, I figured... fuck it, right? Lol. 
> 
> I toyed with the idea of speeding up the timeline - say, 4 or 5 years - but ultimately decided that the aftermath of what happened at Harrenhal would be more interesting to write, hence the second part. I was in a weird headspace when I wrote this though, so you might notice that the overall mood of this is slightly different than the one I first wrote. 
> 
> Just read the entire thing with, like, really low expectations and we'll be fine.

 

Lord Rickard Stark had resigned himself to a morning of busying himself with lordly matters. This mainly consisted of breaking his fast, managing the day to day affairs of Winterfell, and continuing his correspondence with Lords Tully and Arryn, the former of whom was soon to be his good family by virtue of Brandon’s marriage to Catelyn Tully.

His expectations for the day fell short, however, when his youngest son abruptly burst into his chambers with an urgency that made him look up from the letter he'd been reading.

Benjen Stark leaned against the doorway, one hand clutching a crumpled piece of parchment, the other braced against the wall to keep himself from falling over. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, suggesting that he’d traveled a great distance to get there, and his eyes were... not exactly  _wild -_ Benjen had never been wild, on account of not inheriting the wolf blood that Brandon and Lyanna were both widely known for - but if Lord Stark had to guess, he’d say they looked alarmed. 

“Father,” Benjen paused as he struggled to regain his breath. “Forgive me for barging in like this, but there’s been… an incident.”

Lord Stark’s eyebrows rose. He couldn't remember the last time he’d seen his son so out of sorts. “What happened? We weren't expecting you back from Harrenhal for a few more days.” 

“It’s Lyanna,” Benjen informed him in a rush. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean _gone_?”  

Lord Stark was familiar with his daughter’s eccentric habits. Even at Winterfell, Lyanna liked to disappear for lengthy periods of time, and though he was loathe to allow her that freedom, he mostly contented himself with the knowledge that she rarely ventured out on her own. She was always accompanied by either Brandon, Benjen, Jaime Lannister, or a combination of the three. But at present, Lyanna was not at Winterfell. The thought made him uneasy.

“She...” Benjen swallowed, his gaze fixed on the stone floor. “She ran away.”

Lord Stark frowned. “She went ahead of your party and travelled back to Winterfell unchaperoned?”

“No, Father. You’re misunderstanding me,” Benjen said. “The morning after the feast at Harrenhal, we found Lyanna’s chambers empty. She hadn’t come down for breakfast, so at first we assumed she’d merely slept in or gone for another one of her walks. You know how Lya is. Only, when we came looking for her, all her things were gone. And... she left a note.” 

Benjen handed his father the torn piece of paper he’d been keeping. It had grown damp with sweat, but Lord Stark had had no trouble discerning its contents. Shock and fury warred within him, and one look at his face made Benjen involuntarily take one step backwards. 

According to Lyanna’s letter, she had chosen to run away with Tywin's heir. She urged them to apologize to Robert on her behalf, and hoped that one day, they might find it in themselves to forgive her. She further emphasized that leaving was her choice and her choice alone, and that Jaime was not to be blamed for having persuaded her, a fact that Rickard found hard to believe.

He crumpled the letter in his fist. Had it not been for its contents, he would have had no trouble arriving to the conclusion that she had been kidnapped. Lyanna was a true Northern beauty, as her mother had been before her, and at a place like Harrenhal, where knights and lords all over Westeros had come to congregate, it was not impossible that someone could have fancied himself in love with her to the point that he felt the need to take her against her will.

But the words were written in Lyanna’s handwriting, in Lyanna’s precise tone of voice, and with the direwolf seal on it. No matter his reservations, it was hard to discount the evidence. 

He didn’t think for a moment that Jaime Lannister was blameless though. The boy may have grown up under his care since the tender age of nine, but he was still a Lannister. And Lannisters, as he was beginning to realize, were ultimately selfish creatures. 

Jaime, he’d observed, lacked the ambition that befitted a son of Tywin, but that did not mean that he didn’t have the potential to be dangerous in his own rights. He was short-tempered and prone to bouts of vanity, a fact that had only been fuelled by the countless times he’d managed to defeat Brandon in swordplay matches. He could tell that the boy was fond of Lyanna, but he hadn’t been aware that that fondness ran deep, deep enough that he’d somehow managed to convince his daughter to throw away her future by running away with him. At the most, he’d been under the impression that Jaime’s affection for her had been nothing but brotherly.

Perhaps he should have saved them both the trouble by betrothing them to each other. They certainly tolerated each other’s presence well enough.

Lord Tywin’s lack of interest would have been a problem, as his ambitions tended to lean more toward the Southern side as opposed to the North, but the Stark name was not without its merits, and had he asked it of Hoster Tully, he felt confident that he could be trusted upon to refuse Lord Tywin’s offer to marry his heir to the younger Tully girl, thereby robbing Lord Tywin of his perfect plans for the West. Granted, it would not have been an easy feat, and would have required years of planning and haggling, at the very least.

But he hardly thought that it was worth the trouble, especially as there was another candidate more suited to further the North’s interests than Jaime Lannister. Lord Robert Baratheon was a strong man, an able man, and though Lyanna loathed the idea of being married to someone who, at a young age, had already managed to father a bastard in the Vale, Lord Stark would be a fool not to take advantage of the boy’s infatuation with his daughter.

Jaime Lannister may stand to inherit a larger fortune than Robert Baratheon, but Jaime only stood to inherit the West in the untimely event that Lord Tywin died. Given the resilience by which Lord Tywin singlehandedly defeated his enemies and secured a crown for his daughter, Lord Stark could not see that happening anytime soon. Lord Tywin had years, if not decades, to rule the West. 

Robert, on the other hand, had already been named Lord. He was young, pliable, with distant ties to the Crown that not even Lord Tywin could hope to claim had he not succeeded in wedding his daughter to the crown prince, and he favoured both Lyanna and Ned. Such attributes were not easy to come by, and given the two choices, it was not hard for him to come to a decision.

It wasn’t a matter of character, or of who loved Lyanna more. As Lord of Winterfell, Rickard could not afford to indulge his daughter’s whims on romantic love and freedom. He had to think of the North. He had to be a Lord first, and a father second. Because in the end, what were four children against the thousands of Northmen who trusted Rickard to keep them safe?

He gave a weary sigh. “Benjen, what of your brothers? Where are they?”

Benjen winced. “Brandon is leading a search party for Lyanna as we speak. He would’ve marched all the way West with a thirst for Lannister blood if it weren’t for the scores of Lannister soldiers they’d intercepted on the road. Apparently, Jaime had not taken Lyanna back to the Rock, if Lord Lannister’s men could be believed,” he said. “As for Ned, he’d stayed behind mostly to try to reason with Lord Baratheon, who appeared to be in even worse state than Brandon. He didn’t believe that Lyanna ran away willingly with Jaime, even when Ned had shown him the letter, and he kept telling everyone he saw that he’d hunt Jaime down and kill him. You can imagine why Ned and Lord Arryn are worried.”

The furrow between Lord Stark’s brows deepened. “That reckless boy would start a war if left unchecked,” he said, more to himself than to Benjen.

Ned and Lord Arryn could not hope to hold him off for long. It was Robert’s right as Lyanna’s intended to search for her, Lord Stark could not begrudge him that, but if he found the young lion first and somehow managed to kill him in a fit of anger, there would be hell to pay. Lord Stark did not want to be on the receiving end of Tywin Lannister’s wrath, but if the Westerlands and the Stormlands found themselves at war with one another, it would be hard for the North to remain neutral, especially given the fact that Lyanna’s involvement with Jaime was the reason the war started in the first place. Ned would no doubt see it as his duty to help his dear friend Robert, but if the war went sideways and gods forbid something happened to him, the Starks would not be able to stop themselves from joining the fray. They’d be fighting both the Lannisters  _and_ the Targaryens. Princess Cersei would make certain of that, if nothing else.

Lord Stark could not allow that to happen. Brandon must find Lyanna and Jaime first.

But even if he succeeded, it wouldn’t change the fact that Lyanna’s honour was now ruined beyond repair. For her sake, Rickard prayed that Jaime had the good sense to marry her, at least. It was the best that he could hope for, given the circumstances.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, come now.”

“I said  _no.”_

Lyanna chewed the remainder of her chicken and tossed the bone at Jaime. The sharp end of it promptly hit him on the face, on the space right between his eyebrows. Any further than that and it would have poked his eye out, but thankfully, Lyanna was not feeling vicious that day. Only a trifle annoyed.

“Jaime,” she said with an exasperated sigh. It was a sound that was becoming more and more familiar to her companion the longer they stayed on the road, but he couldn’t say it was one he particularly welcomed. “Quit being such a ninny and just let me dye your hair red.”

The glare Jaime sent her was one that could have rivaled Tywin Lannister himself. “Absolutely not. I won’t look nearly as charming as a redhead,” was his resounding argument. “The red would clash with my green eyes. Besides, if you think for a second that my father’s men would be fooled if I changed my hair color, then you’re gravely underestimating his desire to have me back as his heir.”

Lyanna gestured to her mop of chin-length hair and shrugged. “If I can survive doing something this drastic, then so can you,” she said simply. “We can’t know for sure if it’ll work, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Your blond hair is too conspicuous.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jaime muttered under his breath. “You don’t care if you look hideous.”

“Oh, stop it. You won’t die for looking less than perfect,” Lyanna snapped, reaching for the red dye she’d painstakingly filched from the last town they’d stayed at. She stood up and advanced on Jaime, whose sullen expression only worsened the closer she got to him. 

In truth, she suspected that, Lannister vanity issues aside, Jaime actually had less issue with dyeing his head a Tully red than with the fact that Lyanna was forcing him to do it. Jaime always did like being contrary, the stubborn fool.

“Lyanna Stark, I swear to the Seven if you touch a single strand of my hair, I will deeply make you regret it.”

Lyanna threw her head back and laughed, unbothered by his threats. 

She stopped an arms-length away from where Jaime was sitting on the ground and said, “Are we seriously arguing about this when our time could be better spent putting as much distance between us and your father’s men?”

“You’re forgetting Robert’s men, too,” Jaime added unhelpfully.

Lyanna rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to throttle his pale, brawny neck. It amazed her that they’d managed to make it this far. Between Jaime’s propensity for starting arguments as a way to pass the time and her own stubbornness warring with his, she was surprised they hadn’t been caught yet.

If anything though, their verbal sparring had done nothing to slow their progress. They may snarl at each other all they liked, but Lyanna had to admit that they made for good traveling companions. They knew each other’s tells, could identify each of the other’s weaknesses and strengths and, on more than one occasion, their ability to wordlessly communicate with one another had served them well. But more importantly, they trusted each other. If Lyanna had to travel to the ends of the world just to get away from Lord Robert, then there was no one she trusted more than Jaime to get her there. 

Granted, his motivations for traveling with her were not entirely altruistic – his exact words being, “I’d rather eat glass than marry that simpering redhead” – but Lyanna wasn’t ignorant enough to dismiss the fact that, marriage objections or not, he also did it out of concern for her. 

His chances of escaping his father’s men would have been higher had he left Lyanna behind, as that would mean less search parties involved - the Starks and Baratheons, to be exact - so she was touched that he’d insisted on bringing her along despite these complications. She resolved to tell him this the next time the subject came up, though judging by the obstinate look currently gracing Jaime’s face, she had a feeling it might take a while.

“I’ll wash off the dye the moment we find a ship sailing for the Free Cities, how about that?” Lyanna smiled at Jaime, hoping that he’d take the bait.

Jaime huffed. “Not good enough, Lya.”

“Fine,” Lyanna said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll allow you to take first watch all the way to Saltpans. _And_ I promise to hold my tongue and not make fun of you by calling you Lord Tully behind your back.” 

“Much better. Fine then. We have a deal.”

Lyanna resisted the urge to shoot Jaime a smug smile, but was unable to remain gracious in the face of victory when Jaime swore under his breath and said, “Should’ve left you with that cheating Baratheon bastard when I had the chance.”

Lyanna smothered a laugh and ignored him. They both knew he didn’t mean it.

 

* * *

_Lya, you foolish girl. Where are you?_

Brandon urged his mare into a gallop, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder and yell at his men for lagging behind. He’d already told them off several times since they’d left Harrenhal, much to their displeasure, and he knew that he was pushing it. Sooner or later, one of them was about to drop dead from exhaustion, but as they had more spare men than spare horses, he rather hoped it would not be the horse.

If he’d had more time to reflect, he’d have marveled at his callousness, but as it was, Brandon was hard-pressed for time. Nothing mattered to him now except finding his sister. His sister who, by all intents and purposes, was probably holed up in a shack somewhere with Jaime Lannister in her bed.

Brandon growled and renewed his efforts, his heel digging into the mare’s flanks as they sped up. It wasn’t so much the thought of Lyanna running away that rankled him, but the idea that she hadn’t seen fit to bring him into her confidence. She was his sister, and they’d been as much a mirror to each other as Jaime Lannister had been to his twin. Out of all their siblings, they knew each other best, and there was an unspoken understanding that she was supposed to go to  _him_ for help and protection. So to learn of her defiance through a letter, of all things, was like a slap to his face. He couldn’t understand why she hadn’t told him her plan in person, not even so she could bid him a proper goodbye.

 _Mayhaps she knows you’d only disapprove and try to stop her,_ a tiny voice inside his head said. Faced with his own inadequacies, Brandon was forced to admit that perhaps he was right. He loved his sister dearly, but given a choice between upholding Lyanna’s perceived notions of romance and preventing a scandal from occurring so as to preserve her honor, he knew which one he’d choose.

They were all pawns of their father, to be gambled away and discarded as they saw fit, and it was only by chance that Brandon had been deemed the luckiest piece. Despite his being forced to marry Catelyn Tully, his destiny was somehow tied to the advantage of one day being Lord of Winterfell. He could save his sister with such a title, but that would be years yet, gods willing, and until then, he was forced to resign himself to his little rebellions. But not even he, wild wolf that he was, could have imagined rebelling against his father in the manner by which Lyanna had done so.

He knew how much she’d chafed against the expectations that had been set upon her, and during the weeks before the betrothal, Lyanna had done nothing but complain about all the social trappings of impending adulthood and how unfair it was that, as a woman, she was being given limits to the things that she could do while Brandon and Jaime had gorged themselves on stolen flasks of wine, nodding appropriately at all the right intervals while simultaneously trying not to dissolve into drunken fits of laughter.

Brandon had not paid much attention to her then - he could hardly sympathize with her, given that he’d been born a man, with all the advantage and privilege it afforded him - but had he known that his sister’s frustrations with her future would reach a boiling point, enough that she’d contemplate running away and actually follow through with it, he’d have taken her more seriously then.

The whole thing was his fault, Brandon decided. He wasn’t the sort of person who burdened himself with self-flagellating thoughts, but in this case, he acknowledged the fact that he’d been utterly remiss in his duties as an elder brother. When Lyanna had come to him for help upon learning that her betrothal had been made final, Brandon had done the worst thing possible. He had laughed at her, brushed off her concerns, and comforted her with the knowledge that she wasn’t the only Stark whose flesh and soul was being sold as a means of forming a long-lasting alliance with some of Westeros’ greatest families. Lyanna had cried bitterly that night, Brandon remembered, and no amount of good-natured ribbing and obscure Dornish japes had managed to make her forget about her looming future as the Lady of Storm’s End. Ned and Benjen had scarcely been able to help her either, if Brandon recalled correctly. Perhaps that was why she had turned to Jaime.

 _Jaime._ The thought of Jaime Lannister warmed the wolf blood in Brandon’s veins. He wasn’t a fool. Neither was he blind. He knew young Jaime fancied his sister even before the boy knew it himself. He’d seen it in the way Jaime hurled insults at Lyanna during meal times, in the way his hands lingered on her waist a moment too long whenever she would hug him, and in the grudging way he’d allow her to tag along wherever he went.

Left to his own devices, Jaime was about as prickly as a hedgehog. He wore his vanity and pride like a shield, a solid defense against enemy forces, but they were also his weaknesses. At times, Brandon wasn’t above using them to his advantage. It was the only way he could defeat Jaime in training.

In Lyanna’s presence, however, Jaime was... softer, if such a thing was possible. He had smiles reserved just for her, and though he never lost the self-assured way he carried himself, it was muted by the obvious regard he had for Brandon’s sister.

The feeling went both ways. Brandon could tell that Lyanna liked him too, and not just because he had a pretty face to match his stellar fighting skills. It wasn’t hard to guess why. Like called to like, after all, and never had there been two souls as stubborn as Lyanna and Jaime. If anyone could have matched his sister’s temperament, it could only be Jaime.

It was the reason Brandon had urged their father to consider him as a match for Lyanna instead of Robert. Lyanna had not known this, of course, and Brandon would have preferred to keep it that way, especially as his arguments had only fallen on deaf ears. There had been no need to get his sister’s hopes up for nothing.

He got along well enough with Jaime, and he considered him a brother in the same manner that Ned thought of Robert as his own, so he thought it only fair that if Ned could orchestrate a match for their sister, albeit unknowingly, then Brandon should be allowed to do the same. At that time, neither of them had thought to ask Lyanna what  _she_ wanted.

But their lord father had been resolute in his plans, and no amount of careful wheedling and reasonable arguments on his sister’s behalf had made him change his mind. After that, Brandon ceased trying and moved on. Until the moment when they found her missing with nothing but a letter to explain her absence, he’d assumed that Lyanna had done the same.

 _You better not have given in to Jaime’s charms, Lya,_ Brandon thought as he kept a steady pace on the road. His skin burned at the thought of Lyanna doing unspeakable things with Jaime while on the run. He could only hope that she was strong enough not to give in to any false promises Jaime might have told her. But then again, Brandon was more than familiar with the act of defiling maidens, so he knew how easy it was for one’s resolve to weaken, even if the maiden in question had a will of iron.

The thought of a vulnerable Lyanna caused an odd twinge in Brandon’s chest. He’d never been as devout as his siblings when it came to worshipping the old gods, but just this once, he sent a quick prayer to them to keep Lyanna safe. 

He needed to find her. It was the only thing now that kept him going.

 _Wait for me, Lya,_ Brandon pleaded to the forlorn image of Lyanna in his head.  _I’ll bring you home._

He’d already failed her once. He won’t fail her again.

 

* * *

 

Jaime woke up to the sound of thundering hoof beats. He’d been exhausted the night before from the countless hours he’d spent keeping watch - Lyanna had left specific instructions for her to be woken up at the hour of the owl which, of course, Jaime had willfully ignored - but somewhere in between, he’d managed to fall into a fitful sleep. 

He dreamed that he was back at Casterly Rock, in the watery caverns that marked the lowest levels of the dungeons. His eyes were open but he couldn’t see past the darkness of the place, and there was something peculiar in the air, something that smelled suspiciously like rotting flesh, and amidst all that, he heard a woman’s cries.

 _Jaime,_ the ghost that sounded like Lyanna called out.

He ran towards the sound of her voice, stumbling over the jagged bones of lions long past gone. Pinpricks of light danced on his vision, and when he stretched out his arms in an effort to reach her, he saw what the darkness had hidden from him. His hands had been reduced to bloody stumps, the flesh peeling from his bones like melted wax. 

He screamed. He called out his father’s name, then Cersei’s. But no help arrived. He’d have continued screaming, had he not woken up at the first sign of danger.

With the nightmare still fresh on his mind, Jaime sat up on his makeshift bed, one hand instinctively reaching for his sword belt while the other shot out to jolt Lyanna awake. Only, where Lyanna had once been, there was nothing but empty space.

All the blood drained Jaime’s face. Where was Lyanna? Had she been taken?

But how could that have happened? She had been sleeping right next to him. Surely, whoever was pursuing them couldn’t have taken her without him noticing. Nightmares or not, Jaime refused to believe that he was _that_ incompetent. No son of Tywin Lannister was.

So then where was she?

Jaime took a deep breath and forced himself to stop panicking. His gaze swept over the surrounding area a second time, only to notice that Lyanna’s mare was still there, as was her rucksack. That gave him hope. Wherever Lyanna was, she couldn’t have gotten far.

The sound of hoof beats grew louder. Jaime didn’t have to be told twice. Fueled by panic, he gathered what he could of their belongings and hoisted himself up on his saddle. He gave Lyanna’s horse a slap on the rump, and without even waiting to see which direction it went, he urged his own mare forward, forcing him deeper into the forest where he hoped he’d find a glimpse of her dark hair.

“Lya!” he yelled as loudly as he could. It probably wasn’t wise to alert his enemies to his location, but he was banking on the thick foliage to shield him for a moment, and besides which, the need to find Lyanna far outweighed the risk of being discovered.

“Lya!” Jaime shouted again. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. Seven hells, he hoped to gods she was alright. 

He spotted the arrow meant for his shoulder seconds before it made its impact and managed to deflect it with his sword. A man in grubby black clothes came charging at him from the underbrush. Jaime raised his sword arm and prepared to fight for his life. It took him several moves before he managed to disarm the man, and though he wanted nothing more than to bring him to his knees and ask him how many companions he had left, he knew it was wiser to knock the man unconscious. He had yet to find Lyanna, and that was more important.

Judging by the man’s appearance, he had been a sellsword. No distinct House colors or sigil marked his clothing, which suggested that he hadn’t been sent by the Baratheons or the Starks. That left only one culprit. His father.

Jaime rolled his eyes. _Of course_. Out of all the people bound to pursue them, his father’s men were the deadliest. The man with the arrow had not been aiming for his chest, which meant that he must been given orders to disarm Jaime and nothing else. How typical of Lord Tywin.

If he and Lyanna ever made it out of here alive, he would be glad to inform her that his father’s men had not, in fact, been fooled by his change in hair color. He couldn’t wait to tell her _I fucking told you so._

He called Lyanna’s name again a dozen times, each time sounding more frantic than the last. He clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white and swore loudly. “I swear to gods, Lya, you better not be fucking dead.”

“Did you just _curse_ me?”

As though he’d managed to summon her by invoking her name, Lyanna emerged from a break in the trees, wearing a look of utter confusion. Her newly shorn hair was dripping wet, and to Jaime’s relief, she appeared unharmed.

“Jaime, what’s going on?” Lyanna asked him.

Jaime resisted the urge to slide off his horse and wrap her in a bone-crushing hug, such was his relief at seeing her alive and well, but he’d never been the sentimental sort, even at perilous times like this, so instead, he offered Lyanna his hand and motioned for her to join him on the saddle.

“Run now, questions later,” he said tersely. “We’re being pursued by father’s men.”

Lyanna’s mouth formed a surprised O, but thankfully, she was sensible enough to follow his lead for once. They rode for what seemed like hours, encountering no further strangers on the road, which only heightened their growing sense of anxiety. The man with the arrow may have well been acting alone, but that did not mean that they were free from danger. Far from it. If Lord Tywin had ordered his men to be disguised as lone sellswords, then it was only a matter of time before the rest of them caught up with Jaime and Lyanna. And knowing his father, those men weren't the only ones he'd sent. They needed to get to the nearest port, and they needed to do it _now_.

With his arms circled around her waist and her back pressed against his chest, Jaime drew Lyanna closer to him and murmured, “Don’t ever disappear on me like that again, Lya. Promise me.”

Lyanna rested her hand atop Jaime’s. Her touch was achingly gentle. “Next time, I’ll just let you watch me bathe then, you pervert,” she whispered back in a poor attempt to make him laugh.

Jaime smiled against her shoulder to reward her for her efforts though it was the last thing he felt like doing. It wouldn’t do to let Lyanna know how much the encounter with his father’s man had rattled him.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he'd been scared. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt that way.

Jaime frowned. No, that wasn’t right. He did remember. The last time he’d felt scared – truly scared – was when he’d been banished to the North and forcibly separated from Cersei. He’d felt awful for weeks, months even, his chest aching with the need to have his twin close and his sleep plagued by nightmares of her dying a horrible death without him there to protect her, and it puzzled him to discover that the thought of Lyanna being harmed in a similar manner brought all those feelings back with a vengeance.

It wasn’t like with Cersei, when he felt the phantom pain of her absence so keenly it felt like losing his sword arm, no matter if he’d only been separated from her for mere minutes. With Lyanna, it was different. He didn’t ache for her to be near him all the time, the way he’d ached for his twin when he was a child. She could leave his side for hours and he still wouldn’t have minded because he knew that, ultimately, they were two separate entities, and neither one was dependent on the other. His love for her was not obsessive, for he was no longer a child who believed that physical proximity was the only thing that fuelled one’s affections.

 _His love for her._ Jaime shuddered. He would have gladly ignored the odd twisting in his gut at the dangerous nature his thoughts had taken, but they were still on the road, and no amount of riding or staring at the scenery could force him to ignore his own feelings the way he’d been able to do so in the past. He couldn’t. Gods know he tried, but with Lyanna so close to him now, with her head tucked underneath his chin and her free hand resting on the arm that Jaime had curled around her waist, he found it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

Now that the heady rush he’d experienced from the fight had finally worn off, he came to the horrible realization that, had he not woken up and gotten to the disguised sellsword in time, Lyanna could have died. Or she could’ve been raped. His father’s men were only reliable to the extent that they followed his orders implicitly and without question, but if Lord Tywin had only left instructions pertaining to Jaime’s retrieval, then that meant that Lyanna was fair game. Who was to say what his father’s men would do to her if they’d found her first? He had taught her to wield a blade well enough, but against a score of Lannister men? Her chances of surviving unscathed were slim.

Jaime’s grip on Lyanna’s waist tightened at the thought. He couldn’t let that happen to her. From the moment he and Lyanna had become friends, Lyanna had made it her duty to care for him as one would care for family, no matter how many times Jaime had upset her and how often they’d fought.

Now, Jaime felt inclined to return the favor. Because without her brothers and her father, Jaime was all she had left. All his life he had hated responsibility – responsibility to his family, to the Westerlands – but this, being responsible for one Lyanna Stark – this one, he did not mind. It felt… inevitable, in a way.

It wasn’t often that Lyanna played the role of a damsel in distress, but right now she was one, and _gods be damned_ , Jaime had always had a weakness for saving maidens. It was something Lyanna would have laughed at had she known, which made Jaime all the more determined not to tell her.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Lyanna observed once she could no longer stand the silence. “Are you thinking of your father?”

Jaime stayed silent. There was no possible way for him to tell her that at the moment, the last thing on his mind was his father.

Lyanna must have taken his silence as an affirmation, for she plowed right on, in that gentle tone of hers she used whenever she wanted to comfort Jaime, “I don’t think he would have really sent people to kill you. He must be furious, but surely he had orders for his men not to harm you. Perhaps the arrow was only meant as a warning.”

“Yes, I know,” Jaime murmured, angling his head down so that half of his face was buried in her hair.

“They won’t be able to find us again,” Lyanna reassured him, as though Jaime’s feelings were more important than the thought of her safety being compromised. She had gotten rather good at faking her confidence, Jaime noticed. He had taught her well. “We won’t let them.”

Jaime’s eyes darkened. “No, we won’t.”

 

* * *

 

Robert was in a terrible mood. He wanted to gnash his teeth together and scream as loudly as he could, not caring if he disturbed the quiet stillness of the woods or if he managed to attract the attention of unsavory characters traveling on the road, but the latter would make him sound like Renly while the former reminded him too much of Stannis, so he reined in his temper and settled for stomping back in the direction of his horse.

Lightning, a gift from Jon Arryn on his last name day, stared blankly at him while chewing on bits of grass, as though bearing witness to his rider’s erratic bouts of insanity was far less interesting than he thought it’d be.

Well, Robert was feeling far from entertained himself. He’d been harboring these angry feelings since Harrenhal; from the moment Jaime Lannister strode into that blasted arena with his cocksure grin and his perfect white horse and that ferocious, almost challenging way he’d flicked his gaze at him while he placed a crown of winter roses on his betrothed’s head, Robert had vowed that he would pay him back tenfold for the humiliation he and Lyanna had had to endure. It seemed only fair, what with the Lannisters’ insistence of paying back debts and whatnot.

Robert would _pay_ his debt, and if by chance it came in the form of Jaime Lannister’s bloodied corpse tied to his destrier and dragged all the way to the Westerlands, well then. Robert wouldn’t necessarily say that he’d mind much. 

He had been serious when he’d told Jon Arryn and Ned Stark that he’d kill the thieving Lannister bastard for daring to take away that which was not his, but it had still taken a while for his companions to come to terms with the fact that he hadn’t been japing when he’d said that. Robert loathed Jaime Lannister with all of his being, and even without listing off all the crimes the young lion had committed against him - touching Lyanna in a manner that not even her septa, if she even had a septa, would approve of, blatantly monopolizing her time at the feast by dancing with her all night, his hands never leaving her waist, staring at Robert with unconcealed distaste, as though he wanted nothing more than to peel the skin from his bones and toss his innards to the hounds - Robert was certain that in whatever lifetime they’d be in, they would never be able to reconcile each other to being friends.

Ned and Jon both tried to make him promise not to harm Jaime, but Robert refused to see reason. Why should he? Just because the boy was the spawn of Tywin Lannister did not mean that he was completely invincible. He was mortal, just like the rest of them, and Robert had no fear for Lannisters. He had a war hammer - a giant block of a thing forged from the best fires in Storm’s End- and he fully intended to use it. The entirety of House Lannister could go fuck themselves.

“Robert.”

Ned approached him from seemingly out of nowhere, his forehead etched in lines that made his otherwise young face appear older than it seemed. “I found something,” he said.

Robert peered at the thick rope of hair Ned had shown him. The strands shone burnished copper in the sunlight. He briefly wondered what they would feel like if he touched them.

Would they feel like magic, like the way he’d felt when he saw Lyanna for the first time all those days ago at Harrenhal? She’d barely glanced at him then, he recalled, but she had sent Ned, who had been standing right beside him, a smile so blinding it could have eclipsed the sun. The velvet fabric of her dress had brushed by him when she’d leaned in to hug her brother, the soft skin of her forearm almost touching his, and to her it could had easily been nothing, but to Robert, it had been everything. It- She - had felt electric.

Something warm had bloomed in his chest then, and for a moment, it had felt like he’d lost the ability to breathe. All he’d seen was the glint of her cool grey eyes and the warmth of her laughter, and Robert had felt himself falling, falling,  _falling_ \- the threads holding his flimsy heart together unraveling one by one until he’d felt nothing but pain. He didn’t expect that it would hurt - falling in love - but it was the good kind of hurt, the kind that left him aching for the touch of a woman he’d only gotten to know through stories, the kind that came after a day spent fighting and fucking and drinking.

He suspected he’d loved Lyanna Stark even before he’d met her. From the moment Ned had unwittingly planted the idea of her in his head - this idea of a brazen, sweet-faced girl child who loved so fiercely and entirely without abandon - he’d been helpless. And he’d known, even though he hadn’t particularly believed in religion or fate, that the gods had chosen Lyanna for him just as surely as they’d meant for Robert to inherit Storm’s End. To have her was a gift, a recompense for the abrupt manner by which his parents had forcibly been taken from him at such a young age, and he intended to cherish her for the rest of his days, if only she’d let him.

True, he hadn’t been able to charm her the way he’d managed to charm most of the ladies at the Vale, but it didn’t matter. Lyanna had time enough yet to fall in love with him once they were married. He’d woo her until she was fully his - mind and body and soul. For her, Robert could learn to be patient. 

But first he had to rescue her from the clutches of that dreadful Lannister cub.

“They’d been here,” Ned surmised as he glanced at the length of hair coiled around his palm. “The tracks they’d left behind looked no better than a day old. If we circle back past this town here, we might make it to the nearest harbor in half the time it would normally have taken us to get there.”

“Must we? What if she’s been locked up in the dungeons of Casterly Rock all this time?” Robert said with an impatient flick of his head. He didn’t understand why Ned insisted on searching the nearby ports instead of mounting an attack against the Lannisters, as Robert had originally suggested. If he were Jaime Lannister, his home would be the first place he’d take her to. Casterly Rock was supposed to be an impregnable fortress, after all. And leaving chunks of Lyanna’s hair like breadcrumbs for them to find could be nothing but a trick.

“I think those Lannister men Brandon intercepted on the road were telling the truth,” Ned told him. There was a pause, as though he was debating on whether or not to say something to Robert, something that would inevitably make him angry, before he added, “Why won’t you consider the possibility that Lyanna hadn’t been lying in her letter? Perhaps she'd really meant to run away.”

Robert dismissed the idea almost as soon as he’d heard it. “No. That’s not possible. Lyanna would never,” he declared, voice firm and jaw clenched.

Lyanna was too trusting for her own good, Robert thought. She was kind and sweet and maybe she did care for the foster child of the North the way she’d care for a blind man or a street urchin in a seedy part of King’s Landing, and the Lannister boy had _known_ that, had taken advantage of that, so that he could ruin her and whisper poisoned words into her ear.

It was easy to imagine him doing that, because to even think about the alternative, the possibility that Ned seemed hell-bent on believing, the thought that Lyanna would sooner run away with a vainglorious lion than marry him, was _unacceptable_.  
  
He was the Lord of Storm’s End, Ned’s dearest companion and brother, strong and beloved by many, and just as he knew those words to be true, so, too, was this: Lyanna Stark was his. He would marry her, even if Jaime Lannister sullies her honor in a way Robert would never have dreamed of doing, even if she comes back to him broken and bloody and with less sharp teeth than when he’d first met her, he’d marry her. Because she was _his,_ and Robert took care of everything that belonged to him.

So he told Ned. “I’ll marry her. No matter what state we find her in, Ned, I’ll still… I’ll still marry her,” he promised, because he needed to tell someone other than himself. He needed to let Ned, of all people, know that he was not a monster. That he was no Jaime Lannister.

Ned nodded at him, grateful and understanding and patient all at once, and if his expression wavered when Robert made another promise – “And I’ll kill the bastard that took her from us, I swear to the Seven I’ll _kill_ him” – he pretended not to see it.

They marched onward, Robert’s hammer a steady weight against his back. He wondered what the burning metal would look like, slick with Lannister blood. He supposed he’ll find out soon enough.

* * *

 

They had another close encounter with several of Lord Tywin’s men, during which Lyanna discovered how useful Jaime’s swordplay lessons truly were, but the delay had cost them hours. Jaime had then proceeded to gripe about everything, from his father and the stupid fucking Lannister legacy to the moony way Lysa Tully was rumored to have been chasing after her father’s ward, or so Brandon claimed, and it took everything in Lyanna not to weep tears of joy when she finally saw the outline of the nearest town, because if she had to listen to Jaime’s complaining for one more moment she knew she’d be tempted to save Lord Tywin’s men the trouble and ship his beloved heir’s body back to Casterly Rock herself.

She thought she’d finally had enough surprises for one day, but when they reached the harbor, she found her brother Brandon already there waiting for them.

Lyanna’s heart stuttered at the sight of him. He looked travel-weary, his normally pristine cloak tattered at the edges, jaw unshaven from days spent on the road, and his posture was so stiff and peculiar it reminded her of one of the creatures in Nan’s stories, the kind that transformed from man to beast in the light of the full moon. He looked agitated, like his skin no longer fit the bones underneath, but when he spotted Lyanna, his eyes immediately lit up, the expression on his face wavering between relief and righteous anger.

Beside her, Jaime bristled, one hand instantly drifting to his sword hilt. But Lyanna didn’t care. Her father could have sent Brandon there to drag Lyanna back to the North and have her suitably punished for her actions, and it would’ve have mattered. Not in that moment. Faced with the familiar intensity of Brandon’s grey eyes, she forgot everything - her anger, her fears, and the knowledge that they would never make it all the way across the Narrow Sea now, not with Brandon staring at her like he’d die first before ever letting her go. Because the truth of the matter was, Lyanna had dreamed of him every night since they’d left Harrenhal. Him and Benjen and Ned and her lord Father – thoughts of them circled her mind like a flock of carrions, drawn to the festering guilt bubbling in Lyanna’s breast at her defiance.

And now Brandon was there, like a mirage in the desert, glaring at her with that disapproving, almost feral scowl on his face that was more familiar to her than anything else in the world, and Lyanna, despite the repercussions his presence might have brought upon her and Jaime, wished with all her heart that this wasn’t just a terrible dream.

“Brandon!” was all the warning he got before Lyanna crossed the distance between them and threw her arms around him, the rough pads of her fingers digging into the flesh at his nape.

Brandon half-sobbed, half-growled into her shoulder, and said in a voice rough with days of disuse, “You foolish girl! What in the Seven Hells were you thinking?”

Lyanna drew back, her eyes sweeping over the hard lines of his face and the taut muscles on his neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, willing her brother to know that she meant it.

“Damned right you’re sorry,” Brandon growled. Then, as though noticing Jaime there for the first time, he whirled on him, eyes stormy with a rage that Lyanna, who had borne witness to her brother’s countless mood swings over the years, had rarely seen. “You bastard! This is all your fault!"

Jaime snorted. Lyanna considered punching him on the face just to shut him up, because she knew with absolute certainty that Jaime would sooner die than pass up the opportunity to goad Brandon right when he was most furious.

“Oh, come now, Brandon,” he drawled in that bored, self-satisfied tone of his that always made people want to strangle him. “You of all people know what Lya is like. Don’t insult her by suggesting she wouldn’t have run away with me if I hadn’t given her the option. If I hadn’t asked her to come, she would have found some other unsuspecting man to whisk her away. You know it’s true.”

“Why, you –” Lyanna clutched Brandon by the waist in an effort to prevent him from committing murder, but he easily shook her off and lunged at Jaime, his fists a blur.

There was a sickening noise, that of flesh meeting bone, and Jaime had about half a second of barely concealed shock before he recovered and launched himself at her brother, arms coiled to strike. His momentum caused Brandon to topple to the ground, Jaime on top of him, and when he whipped his head to the side to avoid another blow, Lyanna saw that the right side of his face was dripping Lannister red. Brandon had hit his face hard enough for the skin to split.

Lyanna watched them, horrified, as they wrestled each other on the ground like summer children, neither of them willing to give up. It was as though they’d forgotten that they even had swords.

“Stop it!” Lyanna screamed. Brandon’s fist paused mid-strike as Lyanna slid her body between them, one hand pushing against his chest while the other tugged Jaime to his feet, her grip strong enough to make him swear.

“Move aside, Lya. I am far from done with him,” Brandon said, his jaw clenched so hard that the tendons on his neck stood out. Lyanna imagined them as ropes - strong and thick yet liable to snap against the weight of her brother’s anger - and she had the distinct thought that if she didn’t stop him, he might just end up killing Jaime.

“No,” she exclaimed, mouth pressed in a stubborn frown. Against her will, she pressed her palm harder against Jaime’s, partly to get him to behave and partly to ground herself against her rising anger. She was hardly in the right position to match Brandon’s temper, but she couldn’t help it. Sometimes her brother was just too much of an idiot.

Brandon’s gaze zeroed in on their intertwined fingers. Something within him deflated at the sight, though Lyanna could scarcely understand what. He took deep calming breaths and exhaled slowly through his nose, and when his eyes next met Lyanna’s, she was surprised to see that only a fraction of the anger she’d previously seen had remained.

“You truly wish to run away then?” he asked her, his grey eyes desperate and pleading. “This is what you want?”

Lyanna nodded, her throat suddenly tight. “It is.”

Brandon sighed. All of a sudden, he looked weary. The look reminded her so much of their father it made her heart ache. “You leave me with no choice then,” he said.

“What will you do?”

Lyanna could count on one hand the number of times she had seen her brother sad. He’d always been so full of life, the harsh lines of his cheekbones muted by the smile that constantly graced his face, so much so that every time she thought of Brandon, the first thing she always remembered was his laughter.

The first time she’d seen him sad was on the day they buried their mother in the crypts. Lyanna could hardly recall the events that had led to her mother’s death, but what she did remember was the downward cast to Brandon’s mouth, the way he’d hugged Lyanna to draw comfort from her as much as to offer her comfort of his own, and how she’d cried hard against his shoulder not just because their mother was dead but because Brandon wouldn’t smile and she didn’t know how to make everything alright again.

She didn’t think she’d ever see that awful, gut-wrenching look on his face again, but when he smiled at her for the first time that day, something within her nearly broke. “It’s strange,” he mused. “I left Harrenhal with the intention of bringing you back home, but I realize now that all along I was meant to come here to say goodbye.”

“You’ll let me go?” Lyanna looked at him, not sure if she had heard him right. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

 _Because I would do anything for you,_ was what he didn’t say. Lyanna had never loved him so much as in that moment.

The silence stretched on.

“As you will recall, it was not _just like that_. I think he broke my jaw,” Jaime piped in, effectively ruining the moment.

In unison, Lyanna and Brandon glared at him and snapped, “Shut _up_ , Jaime.”

“I’m still waiting for that apology, Stark,” Jaime said imperiously, as though he hadn’t just traveled halfway across the realm with Brandon’s sister in an effort to smuggle her out to a foreign city.

For a moment, Brandon’s expression flickered. There was a moment of agony where Lyanna thought she’d have to stop him from physically hurting Jaime again - not that Jaime couldn’t hold his own in a fight, of course - but the moment passed, and mercifully, Brandon merely sighed and contented himself with fixing Jaime with a glare cold enough to freeze the marrow in his bones.

“You will take care of Lyanna,” Brandon said. Neither of them harbored any illusions that it was anything other than an order. “You will provide for her, make sure she has a proper roof over her head, and keep her happy. You will send me regular reports of your daily life. If at any point the letters stop or I find out that you have made my sister cry, I will hunt you down like the cornered lion that you are and feed you to the wolves. No matter where you are. Am I understood?”

“Yes.” Lyanna was proud for the way Jaime’s face never wavered.

“Good. Now swear it.”

Jaime met Brandon’s challenging stare head on, his eyes glittering like newly-cut emeralds. “I swear it, Brandon Stark, on the old gods and the new. I will protect Lyanna with my life.”

The tension seeped out of Brandon’s shoulders and Lyanna watched, mesmerized, as he stretched out his hand to Jaime. Jaime didn’t shake it. They clasped hands instead, and Brandon pulled him in in one of those peculiar, half-hugs men liked to do so much, and as he did so, he lowered his voice and said, “You better marry my sister once she gets with child, Lannister. I don’t want my nieces and nephews to be bastards.”

He probably meant for Lyanna not to hear them, but though they were far enough away that his voice couldn’t carry, Lyanna was rather skilled at reading lips.

“You- What are you – _why_ would I even –” Jaime sputtered.

Brandon smirked at him, pleased to have gotten the upper hand. If Lyanna hadn’t been so mortified at the implication of her brother’s words, she’d have spared a moment to be amused by the rare sight of Jaime turning red and getting tongue-tied.

“You best board that ship now, before Ned and the bloody cavalry arrives,” Brandon told him. “If you stay here long enough, I might just change my mind.”

They’d scarcely taken a step forward when Brandon called out and said, “Oh, and Lannister?”

“What?”

“You look terrible as a redhead.”

Jaime swore.

* * *

 

Robert was raving about Jaime Lannister again. In between riding and eating and taking turns keeping watch, it was all he ever did these days. By now, Ned was more than passingly familiar with the various ways one might kill a person, though he doubted the information would prove useful over time, given the fact that Robert’s preferred methods involved stringing Jaime’s bowels and using it as a noose to hang himself. Obviously, Robert had… issues.

Ned couldn’t blame him though. If someone had told him that his betrothed had run away with another man, one as strikingly beautiful and skilled with a sword as Jaime Lannister, he’d feel mighty bothered about it too. Not that Robert ever thought of it in terms of anything other than a kidnapping. Ned loved his friend dearly, he truly did, but sometimes, listening to Robert’s persistence in believing his own version of the truth was exhausting. He wished he had Jon Arryn with him.

But only one of them was permitted the luxury of humouring Robert on his foolhardy quest to retrieve Lyanna, and between him and Ned, there was no denying that the younger Stark boy was better suited for the role than his old mentor could ever be. Jon’s efforts would be better spent ruffling Tywin Lannister’s feathers while simultaneously assuring Hoster Tully that Brandon’s rampage across the countryside would not result in him losing either his head or his promise to wed the elder Tully girl, and though that sounded like a task formidable enough on its own, Ned began to realize that in truth, it was he who was having a more difficult time for it.

Brothers though they may be, Ned was unable to appeal to Robert’s good sense and extract from him a promise that he won’t harm Jaime. Not that he could blame him. Ned seldom thought ill of people, especially ones whose company his sister favoured, but there was just something about the Lannister heir that had never really sat well with him. It wasn’t that he disliked him - Ned was not that petty - but if he had to put it into words, he’d say the feeling was more akin to unease than anything else.

He wasn’t comfortable with the young lion’s self-satisfied smirks and the possessive way he seemed to regard Lyanna. Whereas Robert had always been easy to read, Jaime’s words said one thing while his eyes said another. And that made it hard for Ned to trust him.

Truth and honour were qualities that Ned valued. And Jaime… Well, Ned wasn’t sure if Jaime had those. He had a hard time wrapping his mind about precisely what it was that motivated Jaime. If he loved Lyanna true, then why had they run away instead of fighting for their right to be together in the lawful eyes of gods and men? He should have prostrated himself before their father and demanded Lyanna’s hand in marriage despite the trials that would have presented themselves, despite his own lord father’s wishes, and despite even Lyanna’s already arranged betrothal. Anything else would have been a dishonour to her. 

Thinking of his sister brought a sudden tightness to Ned’s throat. Lyanna was far too young to know the horrors of the world. People did not look kindly on unwed girls who absconded with wealthy young heirs. Without the Lannister or Baratheon name, she was vulnerable. And any child she bore would meet a similar fate. How could Jaime Lannister not have anticipated that? He may be only six and ten, but surely he was no fool. Surely he realised what his actions would mean for Lyanna’s future. He would be dooming her. Where was the honour in that? Suffice to say, Ned did not understand men like Jaime Lannister.

Robert would have criticised him had he known the thoughts that were running through Ned’s head at the moment, but that was because Robert would not allow himself to entertain the possibility that Lyanna hadn’t been kidnapped. 

 _No. That’s not possible. Lyanna would never_ , Robert had said the last time Ned had tried to make him see reason.

For a brief moment, Ned’s control wavered and a spike of exasperation pierced through his calm demeanour. He wanted to remind Robert that even though he was Lyanna’s intended, Ned still knew her better than him. Lyanna was his sister. Though he’d spent majority of his adolescence at the Eyrie, he was as familiar to his sister’s moods as he was to every nook and cranny in Winterfell. He knew her, and he knew it wasn’t in her nature to lie to him about something as important as running away. She would never do that to him or to the rest of their family.

But he’d grown weary of pointing out these truths to Robert. If he wouldn’t listen to Ned, perhaps he’d listen to Lyanna herself, provided that they managed to catch her in time. It would probably be best if they didn’t, given Robert’s fervent wish to snuff the life out of Jaime, but still, a part of Ned longed to be reunited with his sister. If she could make Robert see reason, then perhaps Ned could do the same to her as well. He could convince her to come back, assuage her fears that she’d be received badly by society after this terrible mishap, let her know that Robert intended to marry her still, ruined honour or not.

 _It was good of Robert to say that_ , he thought at the exact moment he heard Robert swear.

Ned chanced a look at him, but Robert was staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on an approaching man on horseback.

“Is that…?” Ned squinted against the harsh glare of the sun and frowned. “Brandon?”

Brandon Stark halted in front of them, a tired smile on his face. “Hello, Ned. Robert.” He dipped his head in a semblance of a nod. 

“Where in the Seven Hells did you come from, Stark?” Robert exclaimed, too exhausted to bother with niceties.

“The harbour,” was Brandon’s prompt reply. He spared a glance at the ocean in the distance and sighed. “They’re both gone. I didn’t reach them in time.”

“WHAT _?_ What do you mean gone?” Robert looked nearly apoplectic with rage. “Where is that dastardly Lannister scum? Surely you’re not saying he managed to get away?”

Brandon shrugged. “I came too late,” he said, his eyes flitting to Ned. “I have it on good authority that a dark-haired girl and her blond husband was seen boarding a ship to Asshai.”

The veins on Robert’s forehead stood out. He looked like he could scarcely breathe. “Husband? Asshai?” he stammered. Ned imagined Jon could hear the indignation in his voice all the way back to the Eyrie. 

“Yes,” Brandon continued in that cool, odd tone of his. “Witnesses said the pair looked highly suspicious. Sounds like Lyanna and Jaime, wouldn't you say?”

There was something strange going on with Brandon and Ned couldn’t figure out what it was. Given the news he’d just delivered, he should have been howling with fury as well, but instead, he was… calm. Too calm. Had Robert been behaving rationally, he would have noticed this too. 

 _What was it?_ Ned wondered as Brandon met his gaze once again. It was almost like his brother was trying to tell him something. Something related to… _oh_.

In a rather calm voice, Ned addressed Robert. “Perhaps you should verify this with the harbourmaster, Robert,” he suggested. “Just to be certain. A second interrogation wouldn’t hurt.”

Robert’s eyes lit up with the idea. “Yes,” he said agreeably. “ _Yes_ , of course. Will you come with me, Ned?”

Ned hesitated, but at Brandon’s subtle shake of his head, he stifled his discomfort and replied, “No. I think I’d rather just… meet you back here. Brandon and I need to discuss what we’re going to tell our father.”

Robert nodded, none the wiser. “Very well.” He rode off without another word, not even sparing Brandon a second glance.

“So,” Ned said, staring at his brother. 

“So.”

“You saw Lyanna and Jaime Lannister, didn’t you?” 

Brandon folded his arms across his chest and quirked an eyebrow, as though daring Ned to accuse him of lying. “I did, yes.”

“Were they really going to Asshai?” Ned asked him.

“No. They’re sailing to Braavos, if you must know,” Brandon told him, the words sliding through his teeth with barely suppressed annoyance. “But I figured it wouldn’t hurt to buy them some time. Given how oblivious Lord Robert is, I might just have bought them weeks. Months, even.”

Ned suppressed the urge to sigh. “I take it Lyanna is well then? Lord Jaime is treating her with care?”

“He gave me his word, for what it’s worth,” Brandon conceded. “And I made it abundantly clear what is to happen to him if he breaks it.”

The urge to ask Brandon why he’d permitted them to do such a thing was on the tip of his tongue, but knowing his brother, he probably wouldn’t get a straight answer from him. Brandon was about as mysterious as he was impulsive, and despite their blood and their shared memories, sometimes Ned felt like he was talking to a stranger. 

“Are they married, at least?” Ned asked instead. “Please tell me that part was true.”

Brandon grimaced. “I hate to disappoint you, Ned, but I assure you, they most certainly are _not_ married,” he said. “Me insisting would only have made Lya more resistant to the idea. But give them a couple of years and they might be persuaded to do it, out of necessity, most likely. But I’m not sure it’d be much of a change. They’re married in every other sense of the word anyway.”

“And you’re really alright with this?” Ned asked with no small amount of concern. He found that hard to believe. Days ago, Brandon was practically bristling with the need to fight Robert for the chance to take down Jaime himself.

Brandon snorted. “Of course I’m fucking not,” he answered him. “I’m not alright with a lot of things. I’m not alright with marrying Catelyn, I’m not alright with Robert potentially fucking things up in the realm in the name of eternal love, and I am most certainly not alright with going back to Winterfell empty-handed because there is no conceivable way that Father would buy whatever pile of shit excuse we may have to tell him.”

At that, Ned felt the beginnings of a terrible headache coming on. “On that note, what _are_ we going to tell Father?”

Brandon’s helpless expression was a mirror of his own. “Fuck if I know,” he said. “We’re dead men, aren’t we?”

“Quite.”

 

* * *

 

Jaime hated sea travel. Granted, he’d never had much opportunity to board a ship until now, so he couldn’t rightly say that he’d always felt this way, but he was gradually learning things about himself the longer he traveled with Lyanna, and his newfound hatred for sea voyages was one of them. 

The ship lurched to the side, sending Jaime careening into the opposite wall and nearly knocking Lyanna off her feet in the process. He felt supremely thankful that they’d both opted to skip dinner and retire to bed early that night. If they hadn’t, he had a feeling he’d be regurgitating the contents of his stomach all over the poor excuse for a bed the ship’s sailors had seen fit to provide them with.

Jaime had wanted the Captain’s quarters for themselves, but short of giving them all the gold they had - a move that Lyanna had deemed highly unwise, loathe though he was to admit that she was right - he’d had to settle with one of the larger cabins that didn’t reek of cheap wine and fish guts. 

But to call the cabin they were in large was a bit of an understatement. It was barely big enough to accommodate two people, and to make matters worse, there was only one bed. It shouldn’t have been an issue - Jaime had spent enough nights on the run huddled protectively next to Lyanna to be cowed by their new sleeping arrangements - but in light of his recently discovered… he shuddered to call them _feelings,_ because surely they weren’t that, he found the whole thing uncomfortable now.

Lyanna let out a quiet noise of displeasure at the sight of their rather lackluster accommodations, and Jaime wondered if she was thinking of Brandon’s parting words, the one that hinted at the possibility of Jaime getting her with child. Honestly, the bastard had no sense of decency. Lyanna was six and ten, for fuck’s sake. And it wasn’t like Jaime was counting down the years until she came of age. How ridiculous.

Lyanna cleared her throat. “Well…” she started. “I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

“Good,” Jaime replied snippily. “Because I wasn’t about to volunteer.”

He stripped himself of his outerwear until he was left standing in a loose tunic and simple pants and made himself comfortable on the side of the bed he’d determined to be his. At Lyanna’s uncertain look, he raised an eyebrow and patted the empty spot next to him. “Come on, Lya,” he said. “I’m certain none of my father’s men have made it onto this ship. We might as well take advantage of that and get some rest. You look like you desperately need it.”

Lyanna scoffed at the veiled insult and grudgingly settled herself on Jaime’s side, her back to him. For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence grated on Jaime, and a quick glance at the stiff slopes of Lyanna’s shoulders led him to the realization that she must have been thinking about Brandon’s words the same way he’d been doing. He didn’t know whether he should be relieved by that fact or if he should just pretend he hadn’t noticed. Fucking Brandon. Trust him to ruin things even when he was no longer around.

“I can’t sleep,” Lyanna finally whispered. Jaime couldn’t see her face, but he could easily imagine the expression she was wearing all the same.

He sighed and, without thinking about it, wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. He felt her exhale at the contact, her muscles relaxing so that she was fully leaning against his chest. “Are you scared?” he asked her.

“About what?”

“Everything.”

Lyanna turned around and faced him, her chin tilted upwards. “Why would I be scared?” she said, and Jaime hastened to smooth the furrow between her brows with his thumb. “I have you.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Jaime replied absently. He was probably meant to offer her something more encouraging than that, but he found himself hopelessly distracted by the guileless look in her eyes. Her lips were parted, her lower lip plump and invitingly slick, and he had the sudden urge to bend down and kiss her, if only so he’d finally stop wondering what she’d taste like.

“Fuck, Lya,” Jaime said with a groan, resting his forehead against hers and pulling her closer to him.

“What?”

Jaime didn’t respond, half-afraid that if he did, he’d lose any semblance of control.

 _“What?”_ Lyanna asked again, this time smacking her palm against his chest.

The heat from her touch only made things worse, but Jaime would be damned if he’d let something as annoyingly offensive as Brandon’s comment dictate his actions. The rest of the world may have already judged him and found him wanting, but there was still a part of him that believed that he still had honour. And people with honour did not fantasise about kissing their closest friend, never mind the fact that she was stuck with him for all of eternity.

“Just so you know, I am not getting you with child,” he informed her, his voice purposefully light and mocking. “Brandon is a fool for suggesting otherwise.” 

At his unexpected admission, Lyanna laughed. The tension in the room abruptly disappeared.

“Good to know you’re not harbouring any delusions,” she said, her mouth curving upwards. “Besides, you’d need permission from me to do such a thing. And I’m not giving it to you.”

“Good.”

_“Good.”_

Jaime let out a relieved sigh and dropped a kiss to her forehead. He felt Lyanna’s arms snake around his torso, a reassuring gesture that he would be loathe to thank her for. “Go to sleep, Lya,” he said gruffly. “We can talk about the various ways you’d go about protecting your virtue in the morning.”

Lyanna nuzzled against him like a wolf pup about to sleep through winter, her cheek resting above the pulse of his heartbeat. He wondered for a moment if she could feel the unsteady rhythm of it, the way it stuttered just for her. He would hate it if she knew, he thought. 

“Good night, Jaime,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering shut. 

“Good night, Lya.”

Jaime soon followed her lead, lulled by the pleasant sensation of her fingers ghosting against his spine. It occurred to him that this could be his life now. With no land or titles, just a handful of gold coins, his sword, and the clothes on his back, he had nothing, save for Lyanna. It felt like a worthy trade somehow, and one that he wouldn’t hesitate to make again, should the need ever arises. He pitied his brother, Brandon, and hell, even Ned Stark with his endless talks of familial duty and honour. They were missing half of their lives and they weren’t even aware of it. What a waste.

They would go on walking around in their gilded cages and playing the game of thrones, never knowing anything except that, while Jaime would fight and survive and live each day as though it was his last, and at the end of the day, he’d have Lyanna to hold and to cherish. 

Freedom had never tasted so sweet.

It was the last thing on his mind before he drifted off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you know. Jaime is a romantic, after all, albeit in his own weird, shitty way. Also, STARK FEELS
> 
> Constructive criticism, you say? Fire away.


End file.
